MARY  ROBERTS 
RI N  EHART 


S.  EDWIN  CORLE,  JR. 

HIS   BOOK 


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IN  MEMORY  OF 
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TWENTY-THREE  AND  A  HALF  HOURS'  LEAVE 
MARY  ROBERTS  RINEHART 


IN  THE  ELEVATOR  SHE  SAID  OUT  OF  A  CLEAR  SKY.' 
"YOU'LL  HAVE  TO  TAKE  THAT  RAINCOAT  OFF, 
OF  COURSE." 


TWENTY-THREE  AND 
A  HALF  HOURS'  LEAVE 


BY 

MARY  ROBERTS  RINEHART 

AUTHOB  OF  "K,"  "BAB,"  "THE  AMAZING  INTERLUDE,"  ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 
MAY  WILSON  PRESTON 


NEW  ^Sr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1918, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


Copyright,  1918, 
By  The  Curtis  Publishing  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


College 
Library 

PS 

35-35* 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

IN  THE  ELEVATOR  SHE  SAID  OUT  OF  A  CLEAR  SKY: 
"YOU'LL  HAVE  TO  TAKE  THAT  RAINCOAT  OFF, 
OF  COURSE"  .......  Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"!F  A  MAN  FROM  THE  HEADQUARTERS  TROOP 
OVERSTAYS  His  LEAVE  WHAT  HAPPENS  TO 
HIM,  UNCLE  JIMMY?" 48 


1164062 


. 
TWENTY-THREE  AND  A  HALF  HOURS*  LEAVE 


TWENTY-THREE  AND  A 
HALF  HOURS'  LEAVE 


THE  Headquarters  Troop  were  preparing  to 
leave  camp  and  move  towards  the  East, 
where  at  an  Atlantic  port  they  would  take  ship 
and  the  third  step  toward  saving  democracy.  Now 
the  Headquarters  Troop  are  a  cavalry  organisa 
tion,  their  particular  function  being,  so  far  as 
the  lay  mind  can  grasp  it,  to  form  a  circle  round 
the  general  and  keep  shells  from  falling  on  him. 
Not  that  this  close  affiliation  gives  them  any  right 
to  friendly  relations  with  that  aloof  and  powerful 
personage. 

"It  just  gives  him  a  few  more  to  yell  at  that 
can't  yell  back,"  grumbled  the  stable  sergeant. 
He  had  been  made  stable  sergeant  because  he 
had  been  a  motorcycle  racer.  By  the  same  process 
of  careful  selection  the  chief  mechanic  had  once 
kept  a  livery  stable. 

7 


8      Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

The  barracks  hummed  day  and  night.  By  day 
boxes  were  packed,  containing  the  military  equip 
ment  of  horses  and  men  in  wartime.  By  night 
tired  noncoms  pored  over  pay  rolls  and  lists,  and 
wrote,  between  naps  on  the  table,  such  thrilling 
literature  as  this: 

"Sergeant  Gray:    fr.  D.  to  Awol.  10  A.  M.,  6 — 

1— '18. 
"Sergeant  Gray:  fr.  Awol.  to  arrest,  pp.  2.  Memo. 

Hdq.  Camp  6— i— '18  to  6— 2— '18." 

Which  means,  interpreted,  that  Sergeant  Gray 
was  absent  without  leave  from  duty  at  ten  A.  M. 
on  the  first  of  June,  1918,  and  that  on  his  return 
he  was  placed  under  arrest,  said  arrest  lasting 
from  the  first  to  the  second  of  June. 

On  the  last  night  in  camp,  at  a  pine  table 
in  a  tiny  office  cut  off  from  the  lower  squad  room, 
Sergeant  Gray  made  the  above  record  against  his 
own  fair  name,  and  sitting  back  surveyed  it  grim 
ly.  It  was  two  A.  M.  Across  from  him  the 
second  mess  sergeant  was  dealing  in  cans  and 
pounds  and  swearing  about  a  missing  cleaver. 

"Did  you  ever  think,"  reflected  Sergeant  Gray, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  tastefully  drawing 
a  girl's  face  on  his  left  thumb-nail,  "that  the 
time  would  come  when  you'd  be  planning  bran 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours1  Leave      9 

muffins  for  the  Old  Man's  breakfast?  What's  a 
bran  muffin,  anyhow?" 

"Horse  feed." 

"Ever  eat  one?" 

"No.     Stop  talking,  won't  you?" 

Sergeant  Gray  leaned  back  and  stretched  his 
long  arms  high  above  his  head. 

"I've  got  to  talk,"  he  observed.  "If  I  don't 
I'll  go  to  sleep.  Lay  you  two  dollars  to  one  I'm 
asleep  before  you  are." 

"Go  to  the  devil !"  said  the  second  mess  sergeant 
peevishly. 

"Never  had  breakfast  with  the  Old  Man,  did 
you?"  inquired  Sergeant  Gray,  beginning  on  his 
forefinger  with  another  girl's  face. 

There  was  no  reply  to  his  question.  The  sec 
ond  mess  sergeant  was  completely  immersed  in 
beans. 

"Think  the  Old  Man  likes  me,"  went  on  Ser 
geant  Gray  meditatively.  "It's  about  a  week  now 
since  he  told  me  I  was  a  disgrace  to  the  uniform. 
How'd  I  know  I  was  going  to  sneeze  in  his  horse's 
ear  just  as  he  was  climbing  on?" 

"Suffering  snakes!"  cried  the  second  mess  ser 
geant.  "Go  to  bed!  You're  delirious." 

Sergeant  Gray  put  a  dimple  in  the  girl's  cheek 
and  surveyed  it  critically. 


10    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

"Yep.  The  old  boy's  crazy  about  me,"  he 
ruminated  aloud.  "Asked  me  the  other  day  if  I 
thought  I'd  fight  the  Germans  as  hard  as  I  fought 
work." 

"Probably  be  asking  you  to  breakfast,"  ob 
served  the  second  mess  sergeant,  beginning  on  a 
new  sheet.  "He's  in  the  habit  of  having  noncoms 
to  eat  with  him." 

The  subtlety  of  this  passed  over  Sergeant 
Gray's  head.  He  was  carefully  adding  a  small 
ear  to  his  drawing,  an  ear  which  resembled  an 
interrogation  point.  But  a  seed  had  been  dropped 
on  the  fertile  soil  of  his  mind.  He  finished, 
yawned  again  and  grinned. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "C'est  la  guerre,  as  the 
old  boy  says.  I'll  lay  you  two  dollars  to  one  I 
eat  breakfast  with  him  within  a  month."  His 
imagination  grew  with  the  thought.  "Wait!  I'll 
eat  bran  muffins  with  him  at  breakfast  within  a 
month.  How's  that?" 

"It's  simple  damn  foolishness,"  observed  the 
second  mess  sergeant.  "I'll  take  you  if  you'll 
go  to  bed  and  lemme  alone." 

"  'Lemme,'  "  observed  Sergeant  Gray,  "is  prob 
ably  Princeton.  In  Harvard  we " 

But  the  second  mess  sergeant  had  picked  up 
the  inkwell  and  was  fingering  it  purposefully. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    11 

"All  right,  dear  old  thing,"  said  Sergeant  Gray. 

And  he  rose,  stretching  his  more  than  six  feet 
to  the  uttermost.  Then  he  made  his  way  through 
the  rows  of  beds  to  the  sergeant's  corner,  and 
removing  his  blouse,  his  breeches,  his  shoes  and 
his  puttees  was  ready  for  sleep.  His  last  waking 
thought  was  of  his  wager. 

"A  bran  muffin  with  the  Old  Man!"  he 
chuckled.  "A  bran  muffin !  A " 

Something  heavy  landed  on  his  chest  with  a 
great  thump,  and  after  turning  round  once  or 
twice  settled  itself  there  for  the  remainder  of  the 
night.  Lying  on  his  back,  so  as  to  give  his  dog 
the  only  possible  berth  on  the  tiny  bed,  Sergeant 
Gray,  all-American  athlete  and  prime  young  devil 
of  the  Headquarters  Troop,  went  fast  asleep. 

Reveille  the  next  morning,  however,  found  him 
grouchy.  He  kicked  the  dog  off  his  legs,  to  which 
the  animal  had  retired,  and  reaching  under  his. 
pillow  brought  out  his  whistle.  He  blew  a  shrill 
blast  on  it.  The  lower  squad  room  groaned, 
turned  over,  closed  its  eyes.  He  blew  again. 

"Roll  out!"  he  yelled  in  stentorian  tones. 
"R-r-roll  out,  you  dirty  horsemen !" 

Then  he  closed  his  eyes  again  and  went  peace 
fully  to  sleep.  He  dreamed  that  the  general  was 
carrying  a  plate  of  bran  muffins  to  his  bedside, 


12    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

and  behind  him  was  a  pretty  girl  with  coffee  and 
an  ear  like  an  interrogation  point.  He  wakened 
to  find  breakfast  over  and  the  cook  in  a  bad 
temper. 

"Be  a  sport,  Watt,"  he  pleaded.  "Just  a  cup 
of  coffee,  anyhow." 

"I  fed  your  dog  for  you.    That's  all  you  get.'* 

"I  can't  eat  the  dog." 

"Go  on  out,"  said  the  cook.  "This  ain't  the 
Waldorf-Astoria.  Nor  Childs'  neither." 

"Some  day,  on  the  field  of  honor,"  said  Sergeant 
Gray,  "you  will  lie  wounded,  Watt.  You  will 
beg  for  a  cup  of  water,  and  I  shall  refuse  it, 
saying " 

"Give  him  something  to  get  rid  of  him,"  the 
cook  instructed  his  helper. 

And  Sergeant  Gray  was  fed.  As  he  drank  his 
coffee  he  reflected  as  to  his  wager  of  the  night 
before.  It  appealed  to  his  sporting  instinct  but 
not  to  his  reason.  He  had  exactly  as  much  chance 
to  eat  a  bran  muffin  with  the  general  as  he  had 
to  sign  peace  terms  with  the  Kaiser. 

He  drank  his  tepid  coffee  and  surveyed  his 
finger  nails  disconsolately.  The  faces  had  only 
partially  disappeared  during  his  morning's  ablu 
tion. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    13 

"This  is  the  life,  Watt!"  he  said  to  the  cook. 
"Wine,  women  and  song,  eh*?" 

But  the  cook  was  cutting  his  finger  nails,  pre 
paratory  to  morning  inspection. 

Now  the  ink  pictures  on  Sergeant  Gray's  finger 
nails  had  a  certain  significance.  They  bore,  to  be 
exact,  a  certain  faint  resemblance  to  a  young 
lady  whose  photograph  was  now  concealed  against 
inspection  in  the  sergeant's  condiment  can.  The 
young  lady  in  question  had  three  days  before  wired 
the  sergeant  to  this  effect : 

"Married  Bud  Palmer  yesterday.  Please  wish 
me  happiness." 

To  which,  concealing  a  deep  hurt,  the  sergeant 
had  replied:  "Praying  earnestly  for  you  both." 

He  was,  then,  womanless.  No  one  loved  him. 
He  was  going  to  war,  and  no  one  would  mourn 
him — except  the  family,  of  course.  The  effect 
of  the  tepid  coffee  on  his  empty  stomach  was 
merely  to  confirm  his  morning  unhappiness.  No 
one  loved  him  and  he  had  made  a  fool  bet  that 
by  now  was  all  over  the  troop. 

At  mess  he  knew  what  he  stood  committed  to. 
"Please  pass  the  bran  muffins,"  came  loudly  to  his 
ears.  And  scraps  of  conversation  like  this : 

"But  you  see,  dear  old  thing,  I  didn't  know 


14    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours1  Leave 

your  horse  was  going  to  stick  his  head  under  my 
nose  when  I  sneezed." 

Or: 

"But,  my  dear  general,  the  weakness  of  the 
division  lies  in  your  staff.  Now,  if  I  were  doing 
it " 

By  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  troop  were 
ready  to  move.  And  Sergeant  Gray  went  into 
the  town.  There  he  tried  on  a  new  uniform — and 
the  story  of  Sergeant  Gray's  new  uniform  is  the 
story  of  the  bran  muffins. 

It  was  really  a  beautiful  uniform.  Almost  it 
took  away  the  sting  of  that  telegram;  almost  it 
obliterated  the  memory  of  the  wager.  It  spread 
over  his  broad  shoulders  and  hugged  his  slim 
waist.  The  breeches  were  full  above  and  close 
below.  For  the  first  time  he  felt  every  inch  a 
soldier. 

He  carried  the  old  uniform  back  to  camp  and 
gave  it  to  the  cook. 

"Here,  Watt!"  he  said.  "You've  been  grum 
bling  about  clothes.  Cut  the  chevrons  off  it,  and 
it's  yours." 

"Well,  look  who's  here !"  said  Watt  admiring 
ly.  "Thought  you  fellows  had  to  wear  issue 
stuff." 

"Laws  are  for  slaves,  Watt." 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    15 

"Keep  it  nice,"  observed  the  cook  gracelessly. 
"You'll  need  it  for  that  breakfast  with  the  gen 
eral." 

"Wait  and  see,"  said  Sergeant  Gray  jauntily, 
but  with  no  hope  in  his  heart. 

The  new  uniform  was  the  cause  of  much  invidi 
ous  comment.  Most  of  it  resembled  the  cook's. 
But  Sergeant  Gray  was  busy.  To  pass  inspection 
he  was  obliged  to  borrow  from  the  neighbouring 
beds,  left  unguarded,  certain  articles  in  which  he 
was  deficient,  namely:  Undershirt,  cotton,  one; 
socks,  light  wool,  pairs,  two;  underbreeches,  cot 
ton,  pairs,  one. 

Thus  miscellaneously  assembled  he  passed  in 
spection.  He  drew  a  deep  breath,  however,  when 
no  notice  was  taken  of  the  new  and  forbidden 
uniform  and  when  the  photograph  of  Mrs.  Bud 
Palmer  still  lay  rolled  up  and  undiscovered  in 
his  condiment  can. 

During  the  afternoon  he  wandered  over  to  the 
depot  brigade  and  left  his  dog  there  with  a  lieu 
tenant  who  had  promised  to  look  after  him.  The 
sense  of  depression  and  impending  doom  had  over 
taken  him  again.  He  stopped  at  the  post  ex 
change  and  bought  a  dozen  doughnuts,  which  he 
carried  with  him  in  a  paper  bag. 

"Might  feed  him  one  of  these  now  and  then," 


16    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

he  suggested.  "He's  going  to  miss  me  like  the 
devil.  He's  a  nice  mutt."  His  voice  was  a  trifle 
husky. 

"Not  fond  of  bran  muffins,  I  suppose*?" 

The  lieutenant's  voice  was  impersonal.  Ser 
geant  Gray  eyed  him  suspiciously,  but  his  eyes 
were  on  the  dog. 

"Don't  know.  Never  tried  them,"  he  said,  and 
walked  off  with  great  dignity. 

So  that  was  it,  eh?  It  was  all  over  the  division 
already.  Well,  he'd  show  them!  He'd  

The  general,  on  horseback  and  followed  by  his 
aids,  went  by.  Sergeant  Gray  stopped  and  rigidly 
saluted,  but  the  general's  eyes  and  his  mind  were 
far  away.  Sergeant  Gray  looked  after  him  with 
bitterness  in  his  heart.  Just  at  that  moment  he 
hated  the  Army.  He  hated  the  general.  Most 
of  all  he  hated  to  the  depths  of  his  soul  those 
smug  young  officers  who  were  the  general's  aids- 
de-camp,  and  who  ate  with  him,  and  swanked  in 
and  out  of  Headquarters,  and  ordered  horses  from 
the  troop  stables  whenever  they  wanted  them,  and 
brought  in  their  muddy  automobiles  to  be  cleaned, 
and  sat  with  their  feet  on  the  general's  desk  in 
his  absence  and  smoked  his  cigarettes. 

However,  he  cheered  somewhat  during  the  eve 
ning.  They  were  ready  to  move.  No  more  drill 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave      17 

on  hot  and  dusty  parade  grounds.  No  more  long 
hikes.  No  more  digging  and  shoveling  and  push 
ing  of  wagon  trains  out  of  the  mud.  No  more 
infantry  range,  where  a  chap  in  the  pit  waved  a 
red  flag  every  time  dust  in  a  fellow's  eyes  caused 
a  miss,  and  the  men  round  hissed  "Raspberry!" 
No  more  bayonet  school,  where  one  jabbed  a 
bunch  of  green  branches  representing  the  enemy, 
and  asked  breathlessly  how  it  liked  it.  " War's 
hell,  you  know,  old  top,"  he  had  been  wont  to 
say,  and  had  given  the  bunch  another  poke  for 
luck. 

Before,  ahead,  loomed  the  port  of  embarkation. 
The  one  imminent  question  of  the  barracks  was — 
leave.  Were  they  to  have  leave  or  were  they  not*? 
To  Sergeant  Gray  the  matter  was  of  grave  im 
portance.  Leave  meant  a  call  on  Mrs.  Bud  Pal 
mer  the  faithless,  in  the  new  uniform,  and  the 
ceremonious  returning  to  her  of  the  photograph 
in  the  condiment  can.  Then  it  meant  finding  a 
nice  girl — he  was  rather  vague  here — and  going 
to  the  theatre  and  supper  afterward,  and  perhaps 
to  a  roof  garden  still  later. 

"I'll  show  her,"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth. 
But  the  her  was  Mrs.  Palmer. 

In  their  preparations  for  departure  the  wager 
slipped  from  the  minds  of  the  troop.  At  two- 


18    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

thirty  in  the  morning  they  went  ostensibly  on  a 
hike,  in  full  marching  order,  which  meant  ex 
tremely  full — for  a  cavalry  troop  dismounted 
must  carry  their  own  equipment  and  a  part  that 
normally  belongs  on  the  horse.  Went  on  a  hike, 
not  to  return. 

"Everything  on  me  but  the  kitchen  stove," 
grumbled  Sergeant  Gray,  and  edged  gingerly 
through  the  doorway  to  join  the  line  outside. 
With  extreme  caution,  because  only  the  entire 
balance  of  the  division  and  the  people  in  three 
near-by  towns  knew  that  they  were  moving,  they 
made  their  way  to  a  railway  siding  and  there 
entrained. 

It  was  dawn  when  the  cars  moved  out.  Ser 
geant  Gray  had  secured  a  window  seat,  and  kept 
it  in  spite  of  heroic  efforts  to  oust  him.  All  round 
was  his  equipment,  packed  tight,  his  saddlebags, 
his  blanket  roll,  his  rifle  and  bandoleer,  a  dozen 
oranges  in  a  paper  sack,  as  many  doughnuts.  Over 
and  round  hin>,  leaning  out  of  his  window  at 
the  imminent  danger  of  their  lives,  were  the  supply 
sergeant,  the  second  mess  sergeant,  the  stable  ser 
geant  and  two  corporals. 

"Not  crowded,  are  you,  general4?"  asked  the 
stable  sergeant  politely. 

The  title  stuck.    He  was  general  to  the  entire 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    19 

troop  after  that:  behind  his  back,  to  the  enlisted 
men;  to  his  face  and  very,  very  politely,  to  the 
other  noncoms. 

"Oh,  go  to  hell !"  they  finally  tortured  out  of 
him;  and  they  retired,  grinning,  until  some  wit 
or  other  would  walk  down  the  aisle,  salute  gravely 
and  say:  "Wish  to  report  that  bran  muffins  are 
on  the  way,  sir." 

And  as  the  train  moved  out  the  car  to6k  up 
that  message  of  the  artillery  when  a  gun  is  fired. 
"On  the  way!"  they  yelled.  "On  the  way!  Bran 
muffin  Number  One  on  the  way." 

"Been  pretty  busy,  haven't  you?"  he  asked 
when  at  last  the  train  had  settled  down  to  com 
parative  quiet  and  the  second  mess  sergeant  was 
beside  him. 

"Not  half  as  busy  as  you'll  have  to  be  if  you're 
going  to  make  good." 

However,  the  troop's  attention,  fickle  as  the 
love  of  the  mob,  turned  at  last  away  from  him 
and  focused  on  the  coloured  porter.  They  in 
sisted  that  he  was  of  draft  age,  and  that  it  was 
the  custom  anyhow  to  take  the  train  crew  to 
France  with  the  troops  it  carried.  They  sug 
gested  craps,  and  on  his  protesting  that  he  had 
no  money  they  forced  him  to  turn  his  pockets 
out,  at  the  point  of  a  revolver.  And  boylike, 


20       Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

having  bullied  him  until  he  was  pale,  they  loaded 
him  with  cigarettes,  candy,  fruit  and  abuse. 

The  Headquarters  Troop  had  a  train  of  their 
own.  Up  behind  the  engine  was  the  baggage  car, 
turned  into  a  kitchen  with  field  ranges  set  up 
and  the  cooks  already  at  work.  Behind  was  the 
long  line  of  tourist  sleepers,  each  with  its  grinning 
but  slightly  apprehensive  porter.  And  at  the  rear, 
where  general  officers  of  importance  are  always 
kept  in  war,  was  a  Pullman  containing  the  divi 
sional  staff. 

When  breakfast,  served  from  the  baggage  car, 
was  being  carried  down  the  aisles  the  train  pulled 
into  a  tunnel  and  stopped.  It  was  a  very  hot 
day,  and  in  through  the  open  windows  rolled 
black  and  choking  clouds  of  smoke.  The  troop 
coughed  and  cursed ;  but  a  moment  later  they  burst 
into  wild  whoops  of  joy.  The  engine  haJ  pulled 
on  a  hundred  yards  or  so,  leaving  the  staff  car 
in  the  tunnel. 

The  windows  were  full  of  jeering  boys,  eyes 
bent  eagerly  toward  the  rear.  The  end  of  the 
tunnel  belched  smoke  like  an  iron  furnace,  and 
into  it  the  joyous  whoops  of  the  troop  penetrated 
like  the  maniacal  yells  of  demons. 

The  general,   who  had  just  buttered  a  bran 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    21 

muffin,  looked  up  and  scowled.  He  took  a  bite 
of  the  muffin,  but  he  was  eating  smoke. 

"What  the "  he  sputtered.  "Get  this  car 

moved  on,  somebody!"  he  shouted. 

The  staff  sat  still  and  pretended  it  was  not 
present. 

"Woof,  woof!"  said  the  general  in  a  furious 
cough.  "Listen  to  those — woof,  woof! — young 
devils !  Move  this  train  on,  somebody !  What 
have  I  got  a  staff  for  anyhow1?" 

The  train  stood  still  and  conversation  lan 
guished.  There  are  only  two  things  to  be  done 
when  a  general  is  angry:  One  is  to  get  behind 
the  furniture  and  pretend  one  is  not  there;  the 
other  is  to  distract  his  mind.  The  general's  ire 
growing  and  the  car  remaining  in  the  tunnel,  an 
aide  whom  the  general  called  Tommy  when  no 
one  was  near  ventured  to  speak. 

"Rather  an  amusing  story  going  round,  sir,"  he 
said.  "Woof!  One  of  the  sergeants  in  the  Head 
quarters  Troop  has  made  a  wager — woof ! — woof, 
sir! — sir — that  he " 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  about  the  Head 
quarters  Troop,"  snarled  the  general.  "Woof! 
Bunch  of  second-story  workers !" 

The  aide  subsided.  But  somewhat  later,  when 
the  car  had  moved  on  and  the  general  was  smoking 


22     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

an  excellent  cigar,  the  general  said:  "What  was 
the  wager,  Tommy?" 

"I  believe,  sir,  it  is  to  the  effect  that  within  a 
month  this  fellow  will  breakfast  with  you,  sir. 
To  be  exact,  will  eat  a  bran  muffin  with  you." 

The  general  exhaled  a  large  mouthful  of  smoke. 

"C'est  la  guerre!"  he  said.  He  had  been  study 
ing  French  for  two  weeks.  "C'est  la  guerre ',  Tom 
my.  Queer  things  happen  these  days.  But  I 
think  it  unlikely.  Very,  very  unlikely." 


II 


SERGEANT  GRAY  was  extremely  contented. 
He  sat  back  in  his  seat  and  alternately 
nibbled  doughnuts  and  puffed  at  a  cigarette.  Be 
fore  him,  stretched  as  far  as  the  limitations  per 
mitted,  were  two  long  and  well-breeched  legs, 
ending  in  tan  shoes  listed  by  the  supply  sergeant 
as  "Shoes,  field,  pair,  size  1 1  EE." 

He  had  surreptitiously  taken  out  Mrs.  Bud 
Palmer's  photograph  and  decided  that  her  face 
was  shallow.  And  after  a  moment's  hesitation  he 
had  decided  not  to  waste  any  part  of  his  precious 
leave  in  returning  it.  So  he  had  torn  it  into  bits 
and  thrown  it  out  of  the  window.  Then  he  had 
taken  a  piece  of  paper  and,  writing  on  if  "This 
space  to  let,"  had  placed  it  in  the  condiment  can 
and  put  the  can  back  in  his  saddlebags. 

The  reason  of  his  content  was  that  leave  was 
now  assured.  At  eleven  o'clock  that  morning  the 
general's  field  secretary  had  typed  on  a  shaky  field 
machine  that  stood  on  an  equally  unsteady  tripod 
the  order  that  st  the  port  of  embarkation  twenty 

23 


24     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

per  cent  of  the  men  would  be  allowed  each  day 
some  twenty-three  and  a  half  hours'  leave. 

Wild  cheers  in  each  car  had  followed  the  read 
ing  of  the  order.  Wild  cheers  and  wild  plans.  Ser 
geant  Gray  dreamed,  doughnut  in  one  hand  and 
cigarette  in  the  other.  Twenty-three  and  a  half 
hours!  A  lot  could  happen  in  twenty-three  and 
a  half  hours.  His  dreams  were  general  rather 
than  concrete.  Girls,  theatres  and  food  comprised 
them.  No  particular  girl,  no  particular  theatre, 
lio  particular  food.  He  would  call  up  some  of 
the  fellows  from  college,  and  they  would  have 
sisters.  And  when  he  had  gone  to  the  other  side 
they  would  write  to  him. 

He  had  no  sentimental  affiliations  now.  He 
had  put  all  his  eggs  in  one  basket  and  the  basket 
had  been  stolen. 

"Lucky  I'm  not  dependent  on  eggs  for  food!" 
he  mused  and,  mistaking  the  hand  in  which  he 
held  the  doughnut,  bit  vigorously  into  his  cigarette. 

Nevertheless  his  spirits  grew  lower  as  the  day 
went  on.  It  had  occurred  to  him  that  all  the 
fellows  he  had  counted  on  for  sisters  would  be 
in  the  Army,  like  himself.  He  cut  off  girls  from 
his  list,  on  that  discovery;  but  food  and  theatres 
remained.  He  reflected  rather  defiantly  that  he 
could  have  a  good  time  without  girls;  and  *-hen 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave       25 

considered  that  a  chap  who  lied  to  himself  was  in 
the  class  with  a  fellow  who  cheated  at  solitaire. 

The  day  was  hot.  Kindly  women  at  stations 
passed  in  sandwiches  and  coffee,  and  the  troop, 
with  the  eternal  appetite  of  twenty-odd,  gorged 
themselves  and  cheered  in  overhanging  pyramids 
from  the  windows.  The  corporals  on  guard  be 
tween  the  cars  slept  on  seats  improvised  of  saddle 
bags,  and  between  naps  rolled  cigarettes.  And  the 
noncoms  in  their  corner  inveigled  the  porter  to  a 
game  of  crap,  and  took  from  him  his  week's  ac 
cumulation  of  tips. 

At  the  end  of  the  game  Sergeant  Gray  took  out 
his  money  and  counted  it. 

"Looks  like  you'd  be  able  to  give  the  Old  Man 
a  right  good  breakfast,"  observed  the  stable  ser 
geant. 

"Oh,  it's  to  be  his  breakfast,"  said  Sergeant 
Gray  recklessly. 

"It  is,  is  it?"  The  stable  sergeant  regarded  him 
with  admiration.  "Want  to  bet  on  it*?" 

"Just  as  you  like,"  was  the  cool  answer. 

"Look  here,"  said  the  stable  sergeant,  aware  of 
an  audience.  "I'll  lay  you  five  to  one  you  don't 
breakfast  with  him  at  all ;  ten  to  one  you  don't  do 
it  on  his  invitation,  and" — he  hesitated  for  effect 
— "twenty  to  one  you  don't  do  it  within  a  week." 


26     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

"Good!"  said  Sergeant  Gray,  and  laid  some 
bills  on  his  knee.  "I'd  wager  I  could  pull  the 
Crown  Prince's  nose  at  those  odds.  Then  if  I  do 
breakfast  with  him  within  a  week  on  his  invita 
tion  you'll  owe  me  a  hundred  and  seventy-five 
dollars." 

"I  wish  my  money  was  as  safe  in  the  bank." 
But  the  stable  sergeant  was  vaguely  uncomforta 
ble.  Those  college  chaps  had  a  way  of  putting 
things  over.  He  went  out  on  the  platform  and 
stared  uneasily  at  the  flying  scenery. 

Sergeant  Gray  folded  his  new  uniform  under 
the  mattress  of  his  berth  that  night.  It  was  bad 
for  the  collar,  but  he  did  it  lest  worse  befall  it. 
He  suspected  the  troop  of  jealous  designs  on  it. 
But  he  could  not  fold  himself  away  so  easily,  and 
lay  diagonally,  with  two  Number  Eleven  Double 
E  feet  in  the  aisle.  At  four  in  the  morning  he 
wakened,  the  cause  being  a  dream  that  he  had  for 
some  hours  been  walking  in  a  puddle  and  needed 
to  change  his  shoes. 

Still  only  half  awake,  he  looked  at  his  feet,  to 
perceive  that  some  wag  had  neatly  blackened  them 
with  shoe  polish  from  the  porter's  closet.  He  im 
mediately  reached  under  his  pillow  for  his  whistle 
and  blew  a  shrill  blast  on  it,  followed  by  a  sten 
torian  roar. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    27 

"Roll  out,  you  dirty  horsemen!  R-r-roll  out!" 
he  yelled. 

Still  half  asleep,  they  roused  at  the  familiar 
sounds.  Grunting  and  protesting  they  sat  up. 
From  the  berth  over  him  a  corporal  swung  down 
two  long  bare  legs  and  sat  on  the  edge,  yawning. 
Then  somebody  looked  at  a  watch.  There  would 
have  been  a  small  riot,  but  the  men  were  too 
sleepy  and  too  relieved.  They  tumbled  back,  and 
Sergeant  Gray  lay  on  his  pillow  and  grimed  vin 
dictively. 

He  did  not  go  to  sleep  at  once.  He  lay  there 
and  thought  of  his  wager,  and  cursed  himself  for 
a  fool.  Then  he  dismissed  that  and  thought  of 
his  twenty-three  and  a  half  hours'  leave.  If  only 
there  were  a  girl — a  nice  girl.  He  did  not  want 
the  sort  of  girl  a  fellow  picked  up  in  the  streets. 
He  wanted  a  real  girl,  the  sort  a  fellow  could  write 
to  later  on. 

Little  quickenings  of  romance  stirred  in  his 
heart.  A  pretty  girl,  preferably  small.  He  liked 
them  little,  with  pointed  chins.  They  had  a  way, 
the  little  girls  with  pointed  chins,  of  looking  up 
at  a  fellow 

He  wakened  at  seven.  The  troop  were  still 
sleeping,  but  from  the  baggage  car  ahead  there 
floated  back  an  odor  of  frying  bacon,  and  on  the 


28       Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

platform  of  a  station  outside — for  the  train  had 
stopped — the  general  was  taking  an  airing. 

Sergeant  Gray  blew  his  whistle.  "R-r-roll 
out !"  he  yelled.  "R-r-roll  out,  you  blooming  sons 
of  guns !" 

And,  to  emphasize  his  authority,  he  lifted  a 
strong  and  muscular  pair  of  legs  and  raised  the 
upper  berth,  in  which  the  corporal  still  slept. 
Smothered  sounds  from  above  convincing  him 
that  his  efforts  had  been  successful  he  dropped  the 
upper  berth  with  a  jerk. 

"R-r-roll  out,  up  there!"  he  yelled;  and  whistle 
in  hand  he  lay  back  to  the  succulent  enjoyment  of 
an  orange. 

Across  from  him  the  stable  sergeant  had  turned 
on  his  back  for  another  nap.  Through  the  cur 
tains,  opened  against  the  heat,  Gray  could  see  that 
young  gentleman's  broad  chest  rising  and  falling 
slowly.  The  temptation  and  destiny  were  too 
strong  for  him.  He  bounced  an  orange  on  it,  only 
to  see  it  rebound  through  the  window  and  to  hear 
a  deafening  roar.  The  stable  sergeant  sat  up,  a 
hand  on  his  chest  and  fire  in  his  eyes.  He  blinked 
into  the  distorted  face  of  the  general,  outside  the 
window.  The  general  was  holding  a  hand  to  his 
left  ear. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave      29 

"Who  threw  that  orange  *?"  demanded  the  gen 
eral. 

"Wh-what  orange,  sir*?" 

"Don't  lie  to  me.  It  came  out  of  this  win 
dow." 

"I  was  asleep,  sir.  Something  struck  me  on  the 
chest.  I  didn't  see  it,  sir!" 

Behind  his  curtains  Sergeant  Gray  had  been 
struggling  into  his  trousers.  He  emerged  now, 
slightly  pale  but  determined. 

"I  threw  it,  sir,"  he  explained.  "I  had  no  idea 
— it  bounced,  sir." 

The  general  surveyed  him  grimly. 

"It's  a  curious  thing,  sergeant,"  he  said,  "that 
when  there  is  any  deviltry  going  on  in  the  Head 
quarters  Troop  I  find  you  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
Report  to  me  in  my  car  at  eight  o'clock." 

Then  he  stalked  away. 

Down  the  car  a  sonorous  bass  spoke  from  be 
hind  a  curtain:  "The  commanding  general  pre 
sents  his  compliments  to  Sergeant  Gray,  and  will 
Sergeant  Gray  breakfast  with  him  in  his  private 
car  at  eight  o'clock?" 

Sergeant  Gray  dressed  hastily.  There  was  the 
bitterness  of  despair  in  his  heart,  for  he  knew 
what  was  coming.  He  would  have  no  twenty- 
three  and  a  half  hours'  leave,  no  theatres,  no  de- 


80     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

cent  food,  no  girl.  And  over  his  head  still  that 
idiotic  bet. 

"Oh,  hell !"  he  muttered,  and  started  back. 

The  general  was  still  in  a  very  bad  temper,  and 
his  left  ear  was  swollen  and  purple.  He  lost  no 
time  in  the  attack — he  believed  in  striking  swiftly 
and  hard — and  he  read  off,  from  an  excellent 
memory,  the  tale  of  Sergeant  Gray's  various  sins 
of  commission.  But  he  did  not  go  so  far  as  he 
meant  to  go,  at  that.  In  the  first  place,  Gray  was 
an  excellent  noncom,  and  in  the  second  place  there 
was  something  in  the  boy's  upstanding  figure  and 
clear  if  worried  eyes  that,  coupled  with  another 
of  the  excellent  cigars,  inclined  him  to  leniency. 

"But  remember  this,  Gray,"  he  finished  severe 
ly,  "I  don't  usually  meddle  with  these  things. 
But  I've  got  my  eye  on  you.  One  more  infraction 
of  discipline,  and  you'll  lose  your  stripes." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Sergeant  Gray. 

He  was  intolerably  virtuous  all  that  day. 

Late  that  afternoon  they  detrained  two  miles 
from  the  new  camp,  and  marched  along,  singing 
lustily  songs  that  sound  better  than  they  look  in 
print,  and  joyously  stretching  legs  too  long  con 
fined.  It  mattered  nothing  to  them  that  the  tem 
porary  camp  was  untidy  and  badly  drained;  that 
the  general  passing  in  a  limousine  was  reading  an 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    31 

order  that  meant  an  emergency  abroad,  into  which 
they  were  to  be  thrown  at  once;  that  a  certain 
percentage  of  them  would  never  come  back;  and 
that  a  certain  other  percentage  would  return, 
never  again  to  tramp  the  open  road  or  to  see  the 
blue  sky  overhead. 

But  a  girl  in  a  little  car  trailing  in  the  dust  be 
hind  the  staff  cars  thought  of  those  things,  and 
almost  ran  over  the  company  goat,  Eloise,  because 
of  tears. 

"Darned  little  idiot!"  murmured  Sergeant 
Gray,  and  gave  his  last  doughnut  to  Eloise. 

There  was  no  thrill,  no  increase  over  the  regu 
lar  seventy-six  beats  a  minute  of  his  heart  to  tell 
him  that  love  had  just  passed  by  in  a  pink  hat. 

Until  eighty-thirty  that  night  Sergeant  Gray 
was  obnoxiously  virtuous.  He  had  met  an  Eng 
lish  noncom  in  the  camp,  and  was  studiously  en 
deavouring  to  copy  that  gentleman's  carriage  and 
dignity.  And  the  attraction  of  the  new  surround 
ings  had  turned  the  attention  of  the  troop  from 
him  and  his  wager  to  other  things.  A  discovery, 
too,  of  certain  conditions  in  the  barracks  dis 
tracted  them. 

"A  week  here,"  growled  the  second  mess  ser 
geant,  "and  we'll  all  have  to  be  dipped." 

"Might  as  well  get  used  to  it,  old  son,"  said 


32     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

Sergeant  Gray,  and  hummed  a  little  ditty  to  the 
effect  that  "They  are  wild,  simply  wild,  over 
me." 

But  with  the  falling  of  darkness  the  high  spir 
its  of  the  crowd  broke  loose.  That  night  there 
was  a  battle  royal  in  the  barracks.  The  lower 
squad  room,  which  housed  among  others  the  N. 
C.  O's,  decided  to  raid  the  two  upper  squad  rooms. 
Word  of  this  having  been  passed  up,  the  upper 
squad  rooms  were  prepared.  At  the  top  of  the 
stairs  were  stationed  the  fire  buckets,  filled  to  the 
top,  and  a  pile  of  coal  stolen  from  the  kitchen  and 
secretly  conveyed  to  the  upper  floor  by  means  of 
baskets,  a  window  and  a  rope. 

Twice  the  lower  squad  reached  the  top  of  the 
staircase,  amid  wild  yells  and  much  splashing  of 
water.  The  hall  and  stairs  were  running  small 
rivers.  Coals,  recklessly  flung  down,  were  sal 
vaged  like  hand  grenades  by  the  attacking  force 
and  thrown  back  again. 

The  noise  penetrated  to  august  quarters,  and 
the  sentry  at  the  door,  placed  there  for  just  such 
an  emergency,  having  been  infected  with  the  mad 
desire  to  fight,  and  being  at  that  moment  in  the 
act  of  climbing  the  coal  rope  to  attack  the  enemy 
from  the  rear,  an  officer  with  a  flash  was  at  the 
door  before  he  was  seen. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    38 

Followed  instantaneous  quiet  with  the  only 
sound  the  dripping  of  water  down  the  stairs.  Fol 
lowed  the  silent  retreat  of  the  warriors  to  beds, 
into  which  they  crept  fully  dressed.  The  officer 
moved  through  the  lower  squad  room.  It  was  ex 
tremely  quiet  save  for  an  occasional  deep-throated 
snore.  The  officer  smiled  grimly  and  went  away. 

And  in  the  darkness  Sergeant  Gray  sat  up  and 
felt  of  his  right  eye. 

In  the  early  dawn,  hearing  the  cook  stirring,  he 
went  across  to  the  mess  hall,  a  strange  figure  in 
his  undergarments,  with  one  eye  closed  and  a 
bruise  on  his  forehead  as  big  as  an  egg.  The 
cook  eyed  him  angrily,  and  addressed  him  with 
out  regard  to  his  dignity  as  a  sergeant. 

"Some  o'  you  fellows  get  busy  and  bring  back 
that  coal  you  took  last  night,"  he  said.  "I  got 
something  else  to  do." 

"Look  here,  Watt,"  said  Sergeant  Gray  appeal- 
ingly,  "I'll  get  the  coal  for  you  all  right.  But 
give  me  a  piece  of  raw  beefsteak,  won't  you4? 
Look  at  this  eye." 

"Pleased  to  see  it,"  said  the  cook  with  a  vin 
dictive  glare. 

"Forget  it,  Watt.  I'll  get  your  coal.  See  here, 
I've  got  leave  to-morrow,  and  I  want  to  go  to  the 
city." 


34    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

"Well,  you  can  go,  for  all  of  me." 

"I  want,"  said  Sergeant  Gray  plaintively,  "to 
get  my  picture  taken.  I  want  to  send  it  to  my 
mother." 

Suddenly  the  cook  laughed.  He  leaned  over 
the  big  serving  counter  and  laughed  until  he  was 
weak. 

"Picture!"  he  said.  "My  word!  She'll  think 
the  Germans  have  had  you!  Say,  give  me  one, 
will  you*?" 

He  went  to  the  refrigerator,  however,  and 
brought  out  a  piece  of  raw  beef. 

It  should  have  warned  Sergeant  Gray,  lying 
sulkily  on  his  cot  through  that  bright  spring  day, 
the  beef  over  his  eye  and  attracting  a  multitude 
of  flies,  that  no  one  else  had  suffered  visible  in 
jury.  The  boys  came  and  went  blithely,  each  in 
tent  on  his  own  affairs.  United  action  had  cleaned 
up  the  hallway  and  the  stairs.  But  Sergeant 
Gray,  picked  out  as  Fate's  victim,  lay  and  dozed 
and  struck  at  flies  and — waited. 

By  night  the  swelling  had  gone,  but  a  deep  blu 
ish  shadow  encircled  the  right  eye.  Frequent  con 
sultation  of  his  shaving  mirror  told  him  that  he 
would  have  the  mark  for  days,  but  at  least  he 
could  see.  That  was  something.  He  got  up  after 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave    35 

dusk  and  dressed  in  the  new  uniform.  Then  he 
wandered  about  the  camp. 

He  felt  very  lonely.  Most  of  his  intimates 
were  on  leave.  Round  the  camp  the  men  lounged 
negligently.  Some  one  with  a  mandolin  was 
strumming  it,  and  from  the  theatre,  where  a  movie 
show  was  going  on,  came  the  rattle  of  clapping 
hands.  Sergeant  Gray  hesitated  at  the  door,  then 
he  moved  on. 

What  he  wanted  was  some  one  to  talk  to,  a  girl 
preferably.  He  wandered  past  division  head 
quarters,  where  the  chief  of  staff  stood  inside  a 
window  rolling  a  cigarette ;  past  the  bull  pen,  sur 
rounded  by  its  fifteen  feet  of  barbed  wire  and  its 
military  police. 

At  the  edge  of  the  camp  he  halted.  From  there 
one  could  see  a  brilliance  reflected  in  the  sky — 
the  lights  of  the  port  of  embarkation,  ten  miles 
away. 

Sergeant  Gray  sighed  and  sat  down  on  the  road 
near  an  automobile.  And  somebody  spoke  to  him. 

"Can  I  take  you  anywhere*?"  asked  the  voice. 

It  was  young  and  feminine.  Something  that 
had  been  aching  in  Sergeant  Gray's  deep  chest 
suddenly  stopped  aching  and  leaped. 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  anywhere 
in  particular." 


36     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

"I  just  thought" — explained  the  voice — "I'm 
waiting  for  the — for  a  relative  and  I  might  as 
well  be  taking  people  to  the  street-car  line.  The 
taxis  have  stopped." 

A  car  leaving  the  camp  threw  its  lights  on  her. 
She  was  small  and  young  and  had  a  pointed  chin. 
Sergeant  Gray  got  up. 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you,"  he  said.  "If  it 
isn't  too  much  trouble  I'll  go  to  the  end  of  the 
line." 

"Get  in,"  she  said  briefly. 

Sergeant  Gray  sat  back  in  the  little  car  and 
drew  a  long  breath. 

"It's  rather  small  for  you,  isn't  it?"  asked  the 
girl,  throwing  in  the  clutch.  "My  brother  has  to 
fold  up  too.  He's  in  France,"  she  added.  "That's 
why  I  like  to  do  things  for  the  soldiers  here.  It's 
like  doing  something  for  him." 

Sergeant  Gray  pondered  this.  He  considered 
it  rather  an  unusual  thing  for  a  girl  to  have 
thought  of.  He  considered  that  she  was  as  nice 
as  she  was  pretty.  He  also  considered  that  she 
drove  well.  Sergeant  Gray,  who  in  his  leisure 
hours  practiced  running  a  motorcycle  with  the  side 
car  in  the  air,  paid  her  tribute  of  approval. 

"We'll  be  over  soon,"  he  said  with  a  touch  of 
pride. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave     37 

"You'd  better  not  tell  anybody  that." 

"Why?  I  rather  think  our  being  here  tells  the 
story." 

"Well,  a  lot  of  people  would  like  to  know  just 
when  you're  going.  They  hang  round  the  men 
and  offer  them  rides  in  cars,  and  the  men  get  to 
talking,  and  pretty  soon  they've  told  all  they 
know." 

"They'd  better  not  try  it  on  me." 

"You  almost  told  me  a  moment  ago." 

Sergeant  Gray  sat  quiet  and  a  trifle  hurt. 

"I  am  only  warning  you,"  said  the  girl. 
"There  are  spies  simply  everywhere.  I  can't  do 
much,  and  that's  my  way  of  doing  something. 
That  and  being  a  sort  of  taxi,"  she  added. 

The  were  in  a  town  now,  and  by  the  lamps  he 
saw  just  how  pretty  she  was. 

"Thanks  awfully  for  warning  me,"  he  said 
rather  humbly.  "A  fellow  gets  to  think  that  all 
this  spy  talk  is — just  talk." 

"Well,  it  isn't,"  said  the  girl  briefly  but  with 
the  air  of  one  who  knew. 

The  sergeant  eyed  her  askance. 

"That  sounds  as  though  you  knew  something." 

"Perhaps  I  do.  Though  of  course  one  doesn't 
really  know  these  things.  One  suspects." 

"Naturally  one  does." 


38     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

She  glanced  at  him,  but  his  face  was  grave. 

"What  I  would  like  to  know,"  he  proceeded, 
"is  what  one  does  when  one  suspects." 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  trying  to  be  funny,"  she 
observed  coldly,  and  brought  the  car  to  a  stand 
still.  "Here's  your  car  line." 

He  hesitated.    Then  he  made  a  wild  resolve. 

"I  see  it,"  he  said  agreeably.  "Thanks  awfully 
for  bringing  me.  We  can  go  back  now." 

She  stared  at  him. 

"You  are  not  going  anywhere*?" 

"Why,  no,"  he  said,  trying  not  to  look  con 
scious.  "I  said  that  I'd  like  to  go  to  the  end  of 
the  car  line." 

"You're  there." 

"I  only  wanted  to  look  at  it." 

"Very  well.  Get  out  and  look  at  it.  I  don't 
think  you'll  find  it  unusual  in  any  way." 

"Look  here,"  he  said  humbly.  "I'm  awfully 
sorry.  I  was  just  hungry  to  talk  to  some  one,  and 
when  you  offered " 

"I  have  done  exactly  as  I  offered.  You  will 
please  get  out!" 

He  got  out  slowly.  He  was  overcome  with 
wretchedness  and  guilt,  but  her  pointed  chin  was 
held  high  and  her  face  was  obstinate. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Sergeant  Gray, 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    39 

and  turning  drearily  commenced  his  lonely  walk 
back  to  camp. 

He  could  hear  her  behind  him  backing  and 
turning  in  the  narrow  street.  He  plodded  on, 
cursing  himself.  If  he  had  had  any  sense  and  had 
got  out  and  let  her  think  he  was  going  some 
where 

The  lights  of  the  car  were  close  behind  him 
now.  When  they  were  abreast  he  heard  the 
grinding  of  the  brakes  as  it  stopped. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  disagreeable,"  said  the  girl, 
beside  him.  "I  suppose  you  did  want  some  one 
to  talk  to.  I'll  take  you  back  if  you  like." 

"I'd  better  not  bother  you  any  more." 

Suddenly  she  laughed.  In  the  light  from  a 
street  lamp  she  had  caught  her  first  real  glimpse 
of  his  face. 

"Wherever  did  you  get  that  eye  2"  she  de 
manded. 

"Fighting,"  he  said  shortly.  "We  had  a  rough- 
house  at  the  barracks  last  night." 

"I  should  think  you  were  going  to  have  enough 
trouble  soon  without  getting  beaten  up  like  that," 
she  said  with  a  touch  of  severity.  "Well,  are  you 
going  to  get  in1?" 

He  got  in.  She  had  been  rather  reserved  com 
ing  down,  but  now  she  was  more  talkative.  His 


40     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

little  remark  about  being  hungry  for  some  one  to 
talk  to  had  struck  home.  Her  brother  had  said 
something  like  that  once.  They  must  get  hungry 
for  girls,  nice  girls. 

So  now  she  chattered  and  she  drew  from  the 
tall  boy  beside  her  something  about  himself.  It 
was  not  particularly  hard  to  do.  Sergeant  Gray 
opened  up  like  a  flower  in  the  sun.  He  explained, 
for  instance,  that  he  was  to  have  a  commission 
when  he  was  twenty-one. 

"Unless,"  he  admitted,  "I'm  in  too  bad  with 
the  Old  Man." 

"The  Old  Man4?" 

"The  general,"  explained  Sergeant  Gray,  un 
aware  that  the  young  lady  was  sitting  very 
straight.  "He's  hell — he's  strong  for  discipline, 
and  all  that.  And — well,  every  now  and  then  I 
slip  up  on  something,  and  he  gets  me.  It's  always 
me  he  gets,"  he  finished  plaintively  and  ungram 
matically. 

"But  you  shouldn't  do  things  that  are  wrong." 

Sergeant  Gray  pondered  this  amazing  state 
ment. 

"Perhaps  you're  right,"  he  acknowledged.  "I 
hadn't  thought  of  that." 

"You  might  try  being  terribly  well  behaved  for 
— well,  for  twenty-four  hours." 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    41 

"Do  you  want  me  to1?" 

"It's  entirely  a  matter  of  your  own  good,"  she 
said  rather  coldly. 

"I'll  do  it!"  said  Sergeant  Gray  rashly.  "Not 
a  misstep  for  twenty- four  hours.  How's  that?" 

"It  sounds  well." 

"The  truth  is,"  confided  Sergeant  Gray,  "I've 
got  to  be  good.  He's  watching.  He  told  me  so." 

"And  if  you're  not " 

"Shot  against  a  brick  wall  probably."  He 
grinned  cheerfully.  "Think  of  that  hanging  over 
a  fellow,  and  twenty-three  and  a  half  hours'  leave 
to-morrow." 

"I  hope,"  she  said  in  the  motherly  tone  she  as 
sumed  now  and  then,  "that  you  are  going  to  be 
awfully  careful  to-morrow." 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  cat  crossing  a  wet  gutter"? 
Well,  that's  me  to-morrow.  This  is  no  time  to 
take  any  chances." 

At  which  probably  those  particular  gods  that 
had  Sergeant  Gray  in  their  keeping  laughed  be 
hind  their  hands. 

The  girl  stopped  the  car  at  the  camp,  and  the 
plaything  of  destiny  descended. 

"Thank  you,  awfully,"  observed  the  said  play 
thing  with  a  considerable  amount  of  warmth  in 


42     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

his  voice.  "I — perhaps  I  shall  not  see  you 
again." 

"I  was  just  thinking — what  time  does  your 
leave  commence  to-morrow*?" 

"At  ten-thirty" — hopefully. 

"I  might  pick  you  up  then  and  take  you  to  the 
trolley." 

"Honestly,  would  you?"  he  asked  delightedly. 
"You  know,  I — really,  I  can't  tell  you  how  grate 
ful  I  would  be." 

"I  love  to  make  the  taxi  men  wriggle,"  was  her 
rather  unsatisfactory  reply.  "I'll  be  here,  then. 
Good  night." 

Sergeant  Gray  saluted  and  went  away.  To  all 
appearances  he  was  a  rather  overgrown  young  man 
trudging  through  the  mud  of  a  not  too-tidy  camp 
to  a  barracks  that  needed  carbolising.  Actually 
he  was  a  sublimated  being  favoured  of  heaven  and 
floating  in  a  rosy  cloud  of  dreams. 

"Halt!"  said  a  guard,  and  threw  his  rifle  to 
port  arms.  "Who's  there?' 

"Sergeant  of  the  Headquarters  Troop,"  said 
the  superman. 

"Where's  your  pass?" 

The  superman  presented  it,  and  the  guard  in 
spected  it  closely — the  attitude  of  the  M.  P.  be- 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours1  Leave    43 

ing  that  all  men  are  Germans  unless  proved  other 
wise. 

"Thoroughly  satisfactory?"  inquired  the  super 
man. 

The  M.  P.  grunted. 

The  sergeant  approached  him  and  lowered  his 
voice  confidentially. 

"Tell  you  something,"  he  volunteered:  "I'm 
not  the  same  chap  who  went  out  on  that  pass." 

"What  d'you  mean  you're  not?" 

"It's  like  this,  old  son.  But  first  of  all  let  me 
ask  you  something."  He  glanced  about  cautious 
ly.  "Man  to  man,  old  son — do  you  believe  in 
love  at  first  sight?" 

"Last  fellow  who  tried  being  funny  round 
here,"  said  the  guard  grimly,  "had  a  chance  to 
laugh  himself  to  death  in  the  bull  pen." 

"No  heart!"  sighed  the  sergeant,  moving  on, 
still  on  air.  "No  soul !  No  imagination !  Good 
night,  my  sad  and  lonely  friend.  Good  night!" 

He  moved  on,  singing  in  a  very  deep  bass: 

"0^,  promise  me  that  some  day  you  and  I 
May  take  our  love  te  turn,  te  turn,  te  turn." 

The  chief  of  staff,  who  had  also  discovered  that 
his  quarters  needed  fumigation,  raised  from  an  un 
easy  pillow  and  groaned  disgustedly. 


44     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

"Stop  that  noise  out  there !"  he  bawled  through 
the  window  beside  him. 

The  superman  recognised  neither  the  voice  nor 
the  new  quarters  of  the  staff. 

"Minion,"  he  said,  halting  and  addressing  the 
window,  "hast  never  loved*?" 

Then  he  moved  on,  still  in  a  roseate  cloud  the 
exact  shade  of  a  certain  pink  hat. 

"That  we  may  take  our  love  and  faith  renew, 
And  find  the  hollows  where  those  violets 

grew-w-w ' ' 

His  voice  died  away,  swallowed  up  in  distance 
and  the  night. 

When  he  went  into  the  lower  squad  room  a 
sort  of  chant  greeted  him  from  the  beds :  "Where, 
oh  where's  the  sergeant  been*?" 

And  the  reply  shouted  lustily:  "Out  getting 
measured  for  a  shave." 

He  undressed  quietly,  and  salvaging  the  piece 
of  beefsteak  from  under  his  pillow  got  into  bed 
and  placed  it  carefully  over  his  eye. 


Ill 


BUT  tragedy  had  marked  Sergeant  Gray  for 
its  own.  At  reveille  he  rolled  over,  yawned 
and  without  lifting  himself  reached  up  to  the 
pocket  of  his  blouse  and  retrieved  his  whistle. 

He  blew  it  and  shouted  as  usual :  "R-r-roll  out, 
you  dirty  horsemen!  R-r-roll  out!" 

Then,  arms  under  his  head,  he  lay  and  dreamed. 
Round  the  day  to  come  he  wove  little  fantasies 
of  the  new  uniform,  and  money  in  his  pocket,  and 
twenty-three  and  a  half  hours'  leave,  and — the  girl 
in  the  little  car.  His  pass  he  had  already  secured 
through  the  top  Sergeant.  It  had  been,  with  others 
on  the  pass  list,  O.K'd  by  the  captain  and  re- 
O.K'd  by  the  military  police.  At  ten-thirty  that 
morning  Sergeant  Gray  would  be  a  free  man. 

He  made  a  huge  breakfast,  and  careful  inspec 
tion  showed  the  eye  greatly  improved.  And  he 
whistled  blithely  while  laying  out  his  things  for 
the  official  inspection,  comparing  his  belongings 
carefully  with  a  list  in  his  hand.  Nothing  was  to 

45 


46     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

go  wrong  that  day,  nothing  mar  the  perfection  of 
it  or  curtail  his  leave. 

But  he  failed  to  count  the  camp  quartermaster ; 
and  that  Destiny,  which  had  taken  him  in  hand 
forty-eight  hours  ago,  was  making  of  him  her  toy. 

Now  camp  quartermasters  are  but  human. 
They  have  their  good  days  and  their  bad,  and 
sometimes  it  rather  gets  on  their  nerves,  the  eter 
nal  examining  and  determining,  for  instance,  that 
every  man  of  perhaps  thirty  thousand  possesses 
in  perfect  condition : 

2  breeches,  O.  D.  wool,  prs. 

2  coats,  O.  D.  wool. 

i  overcoat,  O.  D.  wool, 
i  slicker, 
i  hat. 

1  cord  (cavalry,  infantry,  artillery) 

3  undershirts,  cotton. 

3  underbreeches,  cotton,  prs. 
5  socks,  light  wool,  prs. 
5  shirts,  flannel,  O.  D. 

2  shoes,  field,  prs. 

Sergeant  Gray's  Destiny,  working  by  devious 
ways,  had  given  the  camp  inspector  a  headache,  a 
bad  breakfast,  a  shirt  lost  by  the  laundry  and  a 
wigging  by  somebody  or  other.  Into  the  bargain 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    47 

it  was  a  fine  day  for  golf  and  here  he  was  looking 
over  breeches,  O.  D.  wool,  pairs,  two;  and  so  on. 

Into  the  barracks  then  came  fate  in  the  shape 
of  the  camp  inspector,  military  of  figure  and  mili 
tant  of  disposition,  to  count  the  pins  for  shelter 
halves,  for  instance,  and  generally  to  do  anything 
but  swing  a  golf  club,  as  his  heart  desired.  The 
men  lined  up  by  their  equipment  and  the  inspector 
went  down  the  line.  And  he  opened,  by  evil 
chance,  Sergeant  Gray's  condiment  can  and  found 
the  space-to-let  notice  inside. 

He  looked  at  it,  and  then  he  looked  at  the  tall 
sergeant.  Now  to  save  all  he  could  of  his  twenty- 
three  and  a  half  hours'  leave  Sergeant  Gray  had 
put  on  his  new  uniform,  which  was  against  the 
rules.  He  had  obeyed  the  regulations  exactly  as 
to.  his  hat  cord,  whistle,  collar  insignia,  buttons 
and  shoes.  Otherwise  from  his  healthy  skin  to  his 
putties  he  wore  not  a  single  issue  article. 

The  second  mess  sergeant  eving  him  before  in 
spection  had  warned  him. 

"You'll  get  into  trouble  with  that  outfit, 
Gray,"  he  had  said.  And  Gray  had  replied  that 
if  he  did  it  would  be  his  trouble. 

"Possibly,"  had  been  the  second  mess  sergeant's 
comment.  "But  if  you  put  him  in  a  bad  humour 
and  get  him  started — there'll  be  hell  to  pay." 


48     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

And  now  there  was  to  be  hell  to  pay.  And  the 
inspector,  who  might  have  been  expected  to  walk 
in  one  door  and  out  another  but  did  not,  stood  off 
and  surveyed  him  coldly. 

"Issue  uniform?"  he  demanded. 

"N-no,  sir." 

"Take  it  off!" 

Sergeant  Gray  obeyed.  Once  off,  the  full  ex 
tent  of  his  iniquity,  as  to  his  undershirt,  under- 
breeches  and  socks,  was  revealed. 

"Scrap  the  clothing  this  man  is  wearing,"  or 
dered  the  inspector.  And  to  Sergeant  Gray: 
"Show  me  your  issue  uniforms." 

Now  the  sergeant  was  hard  on  clothing,  and 
particularly  on  breeches.  Also  he  had  giv^n  one 
uniform  to  Watt,  the  cook.  The  single  one  he 
was  able  to  produce  was  badly  worn;  so  badly, 
indeed,  that  the  camp  inspector  with  his  two  hands 
tore  the  breeches  apart,  at  a  vital  spot,  and  flung 
them  on  the  floor.  Something  in  Sergeant  Gray's 
breast  seemed  to  tear  also  and  sink  to  the  floor. 

"Scrap  this  one  also,"  ordered  the  camp  in 
spector. 

"Sir "  ventured  Sergeant  Gray  desperately. 

But  the  camp  inspector  had  discovered  some 
thing,  namely:  That  the  issue  uniforms  of  the 
Headquarters  Troop  of  the th  Division  were 


. 


"IF  A  MAN  FROM  THE  HEADQUARTERS  TROOP  OVERSTAYS   HIS   LEAVE, 
WHAT  HAPPENS  TO  HIM,  UNCLE  JIMMY?" 


See  page  76 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hoars'  Leave    49 

of  poor  material.  Slowly  and  carefully  he  went 
through  the  lot.  Sharply  and  decisively,  at  the 
end,  he  gave  his  orders. 

"Scrap  every  uniform  in  the  troop,"  he  said, 
"and  send  this  order  to  the  camp  quartermaster." 

In  ten  minutes  one  hundred  and  ninety-five  men 
stood  to  attention  in  their  undergarments,  and  in 
the  center  of  each  squad  room  lay  a  great  heap  of 
discarded  khaki. 

"Leaving  us  rather  stripped,  sir,"  ventured  the 
captain. 

"They've  got  their  slickers,"  curtly  observed 
fate;  "and  the  quartermaster  will  fix  you  up  all 
right." 

He  went  out.    Jove,  what  a  day  for  golf! 

"Sergeant!"  called  the  captain. 

He  avoided  the  baleful  eyes  of  his  men  and 
looked  out  of  a  window.  He  was  rather  young 
and  terribly  afraid  he  would  laugh. 

The  supply  sergeant,  thus  called,  came  forward 
and  saluted.  He  was  a  queer  figure  in  his  woolens, 
and  the  captain  coughed  to  recover  his  voice. 

"Put — put  on  your  slicker,"  he  said,  "and  carry 
this  order  tc  the  camp  quartermaster.  And 
hurry!" 

Now  all  the  balance  of  this  story  rests  on  that 
order  to  hurry,  for  it  came  about  that  the  supply 


50     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

sergeant,  running,  put  his  toe  under  the  edge  of 
a  board  and  fell  heavily,  and  a  military  police 
man,  discovering  thus  that  the  sergeant  wore  no 
breeches,  placed  him  immediately  under  arrest. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  the  supply  sergeant  po 
litely;  and  put  the  order  in  his  slicker  pocket.  If 
they  chose  to  arrest  a  man  for  a  thing  he  couldn't 
help  let  them  do  it.  He  didn't  absolutely  know 
what  was  in  the  order  and  if  he  could  sit  in  the 
bull  pen  the  troop  could  sit  in  its  underwear.  It 
was  nothing  whatever  to  him. 

He  grinned  malevolently,  however,  when  he 
saw  the  captain  and  the  two  lieutenants  of  the 
troop  leaving  camp  in  a  machine  in  the  direction 
of  the  city. 

"All  right,"  he  said  to  himself.  "We'll  see 
something  later,  that's  all.  The  old  boy  will  be 
crazy  about  this." 

The  old  boy  being  the  general. 

In  the  barracks  black  despair  was  in  Sergeant 
Gray's  heart.  He  made  a  wild  effort  to  retrieve 
his  new  uniform  from  the  heap  which  was  to  be 
carried  out  and  burned,  but  the  troop  were  a  unit 
against  him. 

"Aw,  keep  still!"  they  said  in  effect.  "You 
got  us  into  this,  and  you'll  stick  it  out  with  us." 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     51 

"I've  got  leave,  fellows,"  he  appealed  to  the 
other  noncoms.  "I've  got  an  engagement  too." 

"We  know.  To  breakfast  with  the  general," 
sneered  the  stable  sergeant.  "Well,  you'd  better 
send  your  regrets." 

At  ten-fifteen  the  troop,  having  waited  an  hour, 
were  growing  uneasy,  and  Sergeant  Gray  was  sta 
tioned  at  a  window,  watching  three  men  in  slickers 
tending  a  fire  of  mammoth  proportions.  At  ten- 
thirty,  going  to  a  window  in  one  of  the  two  upper 
squad  rooms,  he  made  out  a  small  car  down  the 
road,  and  a  girl  with  a  pink  hat  in  it.  There  was 
no  supply  sergeant  in  sight. 

At  ten  forty-five  a  scout  patrol  in  slickers  hav 
ing  been  sent  out  reported  the  supply  sergeant  not 
in  the  camp  quartermaster's  office,  as  observed 
through  a  window,  and  the  troop  officers  as  hav 
ing  gone  for  the  day. 

Black  despair,  then,  in  a  hundred  and  ninety- 
five  hearts,  but  in  no  one  of  them  such  agony  as 
in  Sergeant  Gray's.  Clad  in  an  army  slicker  he 
made  a  dozen  abortive  attempts  to  borrow  a  uni 
form  from  tall  men  in  other  companies,  but  in 
spection  was  on,  and  had  commenced  with  the 
Headquarters  Troop.  Not  a  man  dared  to  be 
found  with  less  than  "breeches,  O.  D.  wool,  prs., 
two."  And  blouses  the  same. 


52     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

At  eleven  o'clock  with  the  glare  of  frenzy  in  his 
eyes  Sergeant  Gray  put  on  a  slicker,  put  his  pass 
in  his  pocket  and  left  the  barracks.  Outside  the 
door  he  hesitated.  The  sun  was  gleaming  from  a 
hot  sky,  and  there  was  no  wind.  The  absence  of 
wind,  he  felt,  was  in  his  favour.  During  his  hur 
ried  walk  toward  the  little  car  he  was  feeling  in 
his  mind  for  some  excuse  for  the  slicker,  but  he 
found  himself  beside  the  car  before  he  had  found 
anything  to  satisfy  him. 

"You  are  late,"  said  the  girl  severely. 

"Awfully  busy  morning,"  he  explained.  "In 
spection  and — er — all  that.  There's  a  lot  to  get 
ready,"  he  added  mysteriously. 

He  was  aware  of  her  careful  scrutiny,  and  he 
flushed  guiltily.  As  for  the  girl,  she  seemed  satis 
fied  with  what  she  saw.  He  was  a  gentleman, 
clearly.  But  a  slicker! 

"You'd  better  take  that  raincoat  back,"  she 
observed.  "You  won't  need  it.  It's  going  to  be 
clear  and  hot." 

"I  guess  I'll  take  it,  anyhow." 

"You'll  be  checking  it  somewhere,  and  then  for 
getting  to  get  it  again." 

He  was  frightfully  uneasy.  She  was  the  sort 
of  girl  who  seemed  bent  on  getting  her  own  way. 
So  he  muttered  something  about  having  a  cold, 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     53 

and  she  countered  with  a  flat  statement  that  he 
would  get  more  if  he  dressed  too  warmly. 

They  had  reached  what  amounted  to  an  impasse 
when  a  small  boy  flung  a  card  into  the  car. 

"Don't  bother  about  it,"  said  the  girl  as  he 
stooped  to  get  it.  "I  have  one  in  my  pocket  for 
you." 

"Thanks,  awfully,"  said  the  sergeant,  rather 
surprised.  "What  is  it?  A  theatre  ticket?" 

She  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  saw  that  they 
were  passing  the  end  of  the  trolley  line  and  going 
on.  He  had  a  little  thrill  of  mingled  delight  and 
uneasiness.  He  had  had  no  plans  particularly, 
except  to  see  her  again.  His  only  program  had 
been  destroyed  in  the  bonfire. 

Suddenly  she  drew  the  little  car  up  beside  the 
road. 

"Have  you  anything  you  want  particularly  to 
do  to-day1?"  she  asked. 

"I  was  just  going  to  play  round." 

"Would  you  like  to  do  a  real  service?  A  na 
tional  service?" 

"I  seem  to  be  doing  it  most  of  the  time,"  he 
observed  with  some  bitterness. 

"You  said  yesterday  you  were  going  to  have 
your  picture  taken." 

Good  heavens,  was  this  marvel,  this  creature 


54     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

from  another  world,  going  to  ask  for  his  photo 
graph  ? 

"I  would,  but  this  eye " 

"See  here,"  she  said  briskly.  "I  want  you  to 
get  your  picture  taken.  I  want  it  for  a  special 
reason.  And  I  want  you  to  go" — she  felt  in  her 
pocket  and  pulled  out  a  card — "I  want  you  to  go 
to  this  man." 

"I  see,"  he  said,  and  took  the  card.  "Friend 
of  yours*?" 

"Certainly  not!" 

"Does  he  take  good  photographs'?" 

"I  don't  know.    You  might  read  the  card." 

He  read  it  carefully.  It  merely  stated  that 
J.  M.  Booth  of  a  certain  number  on  Twenty- 
Second  Street  made  excellent  photographs  very 
cheap,  filled  rush  orders  for  soldiers,  and  gave 
them  a  special  discount.  He  even  turned  it  over, 
but  the  other  side  was  blank. 

"I  don't  get  it,  I  guess,"  he  said  at  last. 
"What's  the  answer4?" 

"The  more  I  see  of  army  men  the  less  imagina 
tion  I  find,"  was  her  surprising  reply.  "I  took 
that  card  last  night  to  the — to  an  officer  I  know; 
and  he  was  just  like  you.  I  hope  you  put  more 
intelligence  into  your  fighting  than  you  do  into 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     55 

other  things.  How  many  soldiers  do  you  suppose 
have  gone  to  that  man*?" 

"Well,  I'll  be  one,  anyhow." 

He  rose  gallantly  to  the  occasion. 

"A  good  many  hundred,  probably.  As  each  divi 
sion  comes  in  and  gets  leave  they  all  run  to  get 
their  pictures  taken,  don't  they4?  And  they  want 
them  by  a  certain  time?  Why?  Because  they're 
going  to  sail,  of  course." 

"There's  no  argument  on  my  part." 

"But  suppose  that  man's  name  isn't  Booth? 
Suppose  I  told  you  he'd  once  been  the  court  pho 
tographer  at  Vienna?" 

Sergeant  Gray  whistled. 

"Are  you  telling  me  that?" 

"I  am.  My  dressmaker  is  in  the  same  building. 
She  told  me.  He  showed  her  a  lot  of  photographs 
of  the  royal  family."  . 

Every  boy  has  longed  at  some  period  of  his  life 
to  be  a  detective.  Sergeant  Gray  suddenly  felt 
the  fine  frenzy  of  the  sleuth.  But  there  was  dis 
appointment  too. 

"So  that's  why  you  picked  me  up  last  night?" 

"Not  at  all.  But  it's  why  I  came  for  you  this 
morning." 

"Would  you  mind  explaining  that?" 

"Not  at  all.     I  picked  you  up  because  I  carry 


56     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

all  the  boys  I  can  to  the  street  car.  But  after  we 
had  talked  I  felt  you  would  understand.  Some 
of  them  wouldn't." 

Sergeant  Gray  at  once  put  on  the  expression 
of  one  who  understood  perfectly.  But  happening 
to  glance  down,  the  better  to  reflect,  he  saw  that 
the  slicker  had  slid  back  an  inch  or  so,  revealing 
that  amount  of  a  knee  that  was  not  covered  with 
khaki.  He  blushed  furiously,  but  the  girl's  eyes 
were  on  the  road  ahead." 

"I  do  hope  you'll  help  me  out,"  she  was  saying. 
"It  wouldn't  be  of  any  use  for  me  to  go,  you 
know.  But  I'll  go  with  you.  I'll  be  your  sister 
if  you  don't  mind." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  say  that  there 
were  other  relationships  he  would  prefer,  but  he 
did  not.  She  was  not  that  sort  of  a  girl.  And  he 
was  uneasily  aware,  too,  that  her  interest  in  him 
was  purely  academic.  Not  that  he  put  it  that 
way,  of  course. 

"The  one  thing  you  mustn't  do,"  she  warned 
him,  "is  to  tell  when  you  actually  sail.  I  thought 
you  might  say  that  the  submarine  trouble  has  held 
up  all  sailings,  and  you're  not  going  for  a  month. 

"All  right,"  he  agreed. 

"Just  when  do  you  sail*?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

He   was   exceedingly   troubled.      He   had   no 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave    57 

finesse,  and  here  was  a  point-blank  question.  He 
answered  it  bluntly. 

"Sorry.    I  can't  tell  you." 

"You're  a  good  boy,"  she  said  with  approval. 
"I  know  anyhow,  so  it  doesn't  matter.  I  just  won 
dered  if  you  would  tell." 

"You  know  a  lot  of  things,"  was  his  admiring 
comment. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  following  the  girl 
into  a  dingy  elevator.  He  was  suffering  the  pangs 
of  bitter  disappointment,  for  on  his  observing  that 
if  the  fellow  tried  to  find  out  when  the  division 
was  sailing  he  would  throw  him  out  of  the  win 
dow  the  girl  had  turned  on  him  sharply. 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  said. 
"You'll  tell  him  what  we've  agreed  on,  and  that's 
all." 

"All?"  he  had  protested.  "And  let  him  get 
away  with  it1?" 

"We'll  decide  what  to  do  later,"  she  had  an 
swered  cryptically.  And  somehow  he  had  felt 
that  he  had  fallen  in  her  estimation. 

In  the  elevator  she  said  out  of  a  clear  sky: 
"You'll  have  to  take  that  raincoat  off,  of  course." 

He  swallowed  nervously. 

"Sure  I  will,"  he  replied.  "But— look  here, 
you  don't  mind  if  I  ask  you  to  stay  out  while  I'm 


58    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

being  done,  do  you*?  I — I'm  funny  about  pic 
tures.  I  don't  like  any  one  round.  Queer  thing," 
he  went  on  desperately,  seeing  her  face.  "Always 
been  like  that.  I " 

"I  didn't  come  here  to  see  you  have  a  photo 
graph  taken,"  she  replied  coldly. 

For  the  next  half  hour  he  did  not  see  her.  He 
was  extremely  busy. 

J.  M.  Booth  proved  to  be  a  slow  worker.  Ser 
geant  Gray,  who  had  been  recently  mixing  with 
all  races  in  the  Army,  was  quick  to  see  that  he 
spoke  fluent  English  with  a  slight  burr. 

"French,  aren't  you?"  he  asked  genially  while 
Mr.  Booth  shifted  the  scenery. 

"Alsatian,"  corroborated  Mr.  Booth.  "But  this 
is  my  country.  I  have  even  taken  an  American 
name.  Now  if  you  will  remove  the  raincoat " 

Sergeant  Gray  moved  a  step  nearer  to  him. 

"Can't,"  he  explained  in  a  low  tone.  "Nothing 
under  it.  You'll  have  to  shoot  as  I  am." 

"No  uniform?" 

"No  uniform.  What  d'you  think  of  a  country 
that  will  send  fellows  to  fight  like  that,  eh?" 

Mr.  Booth's  small  black  eyes  peered  at  him 
suspiciously. 

"Is  it  possible?"  he  demanded.  "This  great 
country,  so  rich,  and — no  uniforms." 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    59 

"Uniforms!"  continued  Sergeant  Gray,  begin 
ning  to  enjoy  himself  hugely.  "Why,  say,  we 
haven't  anything!  No  guns  worth  the  name,  not 
enough  shoes.  Why,  a  fellow  in  my  company's 
wearing  two  rights  at  this  minute.  And  as  for 
uniforms — why,  I'll  tell  you  this — my  whole  com 
pany's  going  round  to-day  like  this,  slickers  and 
nothing  else." 

"Amazing!"  commented  Mr.  Booth  unctuous 
ly.  "We  hear  of  so  much  money  being  spent,  and 
yet  nothing  to  show  for  it." 

"Graft!"  explained  the  sergeant  in  a  very  deep 
bass.  "Graft,  that's  what  it  is !" 

Mr.  Booth  seemed  temporarily  to  forget  that 
he  was  there  to  take  a  picture. 

"But  you — we  will  come  out  all  right,"  he  ob 
served,  watching  the  sergeant  closely.  "We  have 
so  much.  The  Browning  gun,  now — do  you  know 
about  that"?  It  is  wonderful,  not  so*?" 

"Wonderful*?"  queried  the  sergeant,  feeling 
happier  than  he  had  for  some  time.  "Well,  I'm 
a  machine  gunner;  and  if  we're  to  get  anywhere 
we've  got  to  do  better  than  the  Browning."  He 
had  a  second's  uneasiness  then,  until  he  remem 
bered  that  he  wore  no  insignia.  "It  heats.  It 

jams.  It "  Here  ended  his  knowledge  of 

machine  guns.  "It's  rotten,  that's  all." 


60    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

Mr.  Booth  was  moistening  his  lips. 

"It's  sad  news,"  he  observed.  "I — but  this 
Liberty  motor — I  understand  it's  a  success." 

"You'd  better  not  ask  me  about  that,"  said  the 
sergeant  gravely.  "Ever  since  my  brother  went 
down " 

"Went  down-    Fell?' 

"Aviation.  Engine  too  heavy  for  the  wings. 
Got  up  a  hundred  feet — first  plane,  you  know, 
testing  it  out.  And " 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Booth,  "if  you  would 
care  for  a  little  drink"?  I  keep  some  here  for  the 
boys.  The  city's  a  dry  place  for  soldiers.  It'll 
cheer  you  up." 

"I'm  off  liquor."  It  was  the  first  truth  he  had 
spoken  for  some  time,  and  it  sounded  strange  to 
his  ears.  "Rotten  food  and  all  that.  Can't  drink. 
That's  straight." 

It  had  not  been  lost  on  him  that  Mr.  Booth  was 
endeavoring  to  conceal  a  vast  cheerfulness;  also 
that  his  refusal  to  drink  was  unexpected. 

"Better  have  the  picture,  old  top,"  he  observed. 
"Better  get  this  eye  on  the  off  side,  hadn't  you*?" 

For  some  five  minutes  Mr.  Booth  alternately 
disappeared  under  a  black  cloth  and  reappeared 
again.  The  sergeant  felt  that  under  a  pretence  of 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     61 

focusing  he  was  being  subjected  to  a  close  scru 
tiny,  and  bore  himself  carefully  and  well. 

When  at  last  it  was  over  Mr.  Booth  put  a  ques 
tion.  "Want  these  in  a  hurry,  I  suppose?" 

"Hurry?     Why?" 

"Most  of  the  boys  are  just  about  to  sail.  They 
come  in  here  and  give  me  two  days,  three  days. 
It  is  not  enough." 

"Well,  I  can  give  you  a  month  if  you  want  it." 

"You're  not  going  soon,  then?" 

"I  should  say  not !  Do  you  think  Uncle  Sam's 
going  to  trust  any  transports  out  with  these  Ger 
man  submarines  about?  I  guess  not!" 

There  was  no  question  as  to  Mr.  Booth's  ex 
citement  now.  His  round  face  fairly  twitched. 

"But  you  cannot  know  that,"  he  said.     "That 

is  camp  talk,  eh?" 
• 

"Not  on  your  life!"  said  the  sergeant,  and  went 
closer  to  him.  "I  got  a  cousin  in  headquarters;  and 
he  saw  the  order  from  Washington." 

"What  was  the  order?  You  remember  it, 
eh?" 

"All  orders  for  troops  to  sail  during  month  of 
June  canceled,"  lied  the  sergeant  glibly.     "Not 
likely  to  forget  that,  old  top,  with  a  month  to 
play  round  in  your  dear  old  town." 
»     He  was  filled  with  admiration  of  himself.  And 


62     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

under  that  admiration  was  swelling  and  growing 
a  great  loathing  for  the  creature  before  him.  He 
would  fill  him  with  lies  as  full  as  he  would  hold. 
And  then  he  would  get  him.  But  he  would  con 
sult  the  girl  about  that.  She  had  forbidden  vio 
lence,  but  when  she  knew  the  facts 

He  gave  his  name  and  put  down  a  deposit. 

"You  are  sure  you  are  in  no  hurry*?"  asked  Mr, 
Booth,  scrutinising  him  carefully. 

"I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  a  uniform." 

The  girl  was  waiting,  and  together  they  went 
down  to  the  street.  Though  her  eyes  were  eager 
she  asked  no  questions.  She  preceded  Sergeant 
Gray  to  the  little  car  and  got  in.  And  suddenly 
a  chill  struck  to  the  sergeant's  heart. 

On  the  pavement,  eying  him  with  cold  and 
glittering  eyes,  were  the  stable  sergeant,  the  troop 
mess  sergeant,  the  second  mess  sergeant  and  two 
corporals.  Like  himself  they  wore  slickers  to  cover 
certain  deficiencies,  and  unlike  him  they  wore  an 
expression  of  cold  and  calculating  deviltry. 

"Hello!"  they  said,  and  surrounded  him. 
"Having  a  good  time?" 

He  cast  an  agonised  glance  at  the  car.  The 
girl  was  looking  ahead. 

"Pretty  fair,"  he  replied;  and  calculated  the 
distance  to  the  car. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     63 

"We've  been  keeping  an  eye  open  for  you," 
said  the  stable  sergeant,  stepping  between  him  and 
the  car.  "We  want  to  have  a  word  with  you." 

"I'll  meet  you  somewhere."  There  was  plead 
ing  in  his  voice.  "Anywhere  you  say,  in  an  hour." 
Their  faces  were  cold  and  unrelenting.  "In  a  half 
hour,  then." 

"What  we've  got  to  do  won't  wait,"  observed 
the  stable  sergeant.  "How  do  you  think  we  like 
going  about  like  this  anyhow4?  Our  only  chance 
to  have  a  time,  and  going  round  like  a  lot  of  luna 
tics.  We  warned  you,  didn't  we?  We " 

Sergeant  Gray  knew  what  was  coming.  He  had 
known  it  with  deadly  certainty  from  the  moment 
he  saw  that  menacing  group,  cold  of  eye  but  hot 
of  face.  And  strong  as  he  was  he  was  no  match 
for  five  of  them,  hardened  with  months  of  train 
ing  and  infuriated  with  outrage. 

"I'm  with  a  young  lady,  fellows,"  he  pleaded. 
"Don't  make  a  row  here.  If  you'll  only 
wait " 

"Oh,  there  won't  be  any  row,"  observed  the 
stable  sergeant.  "You  take  off  that  slicker,  that's 
all." 

"Not  here!  For  heaven's  sake,  fellows,  not  on 
the  street!  I  tell  you  I've  got  a  girl  with  me. 
A  nice  girl.  A " 


64    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

The  stable  sergeant  hesitated  and  glanced  to 
ward  the  car. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "But  we're  going  to  take 
that  slicker  back  to  camp.  We  promised  the 
troop.  You  can  step  inside  that  door.  I  guess 
that's  satisfactory?" 

He  glanced  at  the  group,  which  nodded  grimly. 

For  an  instant  Sergeant  Gray  was  tempted  to 
run  and  chance  it,  but  the  girl  had  turned  her  head 
and  was  watching  them  curiously.  Hope  died  in 
him.  He  could  neither  run  nor  fight.  And  the 
group  closed  in  on  him. 

"  'Bout  face — march !"  said  the  stable  ser 
geant. 

And  he  marched. 

Inside  the  hallway,  behind  the  elevator,  how 
ever}  he  turned  loose  with  his  fists.  He  fought 
desperately,  using  his  long  arms  with  accuracy  and 
precision.  One  of  the  corporals  went  down  first. 
The  second  mess  sergeant  followed  him.  But  the 
result  was  inevitable.  Inside  of  three  minutes  the 
girl  saw  the  little  group  returning  to  the  street. 
One  corporal  held  a  handkerchief  to  his  lip,  and 
the  first  mess  sergeant  was  holding  together  a 
slicker  which  had  no  longer  any  clasps.  The  sta 
ble  sergeant,  however,  was  calm  and  happy.  He 
carried  a  slicker  over  his  arm. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     65 

"Sergeant  Gray's  compliments,  miss,"  he  said, 
saluting.  Then,  as  an  afterthought  of  particular 
fiendishness :  "And  he  will  be  engaged  for  some 
time.  If  you  would  take  charge  of  this  slicker 
he'll  be  much  obliged  to  you." 

He  saluted  again,  and  the  group  swaggered 
down  the  street. 

The  girl  sat  in  the  car  and  looked  after  them. 
Then  she  glanced  at  the  slicker,  and  a  little  frown 
gathered  between  her  eyes.  Had  he,  against  her 
orders,  gone  back  to  deal  with  Mr.  Booth  alone"? 
She  was  mystified  and  not  a  little  indignant,  and 
when  she  started  the  car  again  it  was  with  a  jerk 
of  irritation. 

Inside  the  hallway,  behind  the  elevator,  cursed 
and  raged  Sergeant  Gray.  At  every  step  in  the 
doorway  he  shook  with  apprehension.  Behind 
him  stretched  a  wooden  staircase,  toward  which  he 
cast  agonised  eyes.  The  elevator  came  down,  dis 
charged  its  passengers,  filled  again  and  went  up. 
Outside  in  the  brilliant  street  thousands  of  feet 
passed,  carrying  people  fully  clothed  and  entitled 
to  a  place  in  the  sun.  Momentarily  he  expected 
the  climax  of  his  wretchedness — that  the  girl 
would  tire  of  waiting  and  come  into  the  build 
ing.  He  plucked  up  courage  after  a  time  to  peer 


66     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

round  the  corner  of  the  elevator.  The  car  was 
gone. 

"What'll  she  think  of  me4?"  he  groaned. 

Wild  schemes  of  revenge  surged  in  him.  Mur 
der  with  torture  was  among  them.  And  always 
while  he  cursed  and  planned  his  eyes  were  on  the 
staircase  behind  him. 

Came  a  time,  however,  when  the  elevator  de 
scended  empty,  and  the  elderly  man  on  the  stool 
inside  prepared  to  read  a  newspaper.  He  was 
startled  by  a  husky  whisper  just  beneath  his  left 
ear. 

"Say,  come  here  a  minute,  will  you?" 

He  turned.  Through  the  grille  beside  him  a 
desperate  face  with  one  black  eye  was  staring  at 
him. 

"Come  here  yourself,"  he  returned  uneasily. 

With  a  wild  rush  the  owner  of  the  face  cata 
pulted  into  the  elevator  and  closed  the  grating. 
Then  he  turned  and  faced  him. 

"Run  me  up,  quick!" 

"Good  God !"  said  the  elevator  man. 

There  were  steps  in  the  entrance.  With  a  fren 
zied  gesture  Sergeant  Gray,  of  the  Headquarters 

Troop  of  the th  Division,  gave  a  pull  at  the 

lever.  The  car  descended  with  a  jerk. 

"Leggo  that  thing."  said  the  elevator  man,  now 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    67 

wildly  terrified.  "Want  to  shoot  down  into  the 
subway?" 

Thoroughly  frenzied,  Sergeant  Gray  pulled  the 
lever  the  other  way.  The  car  stopped,  trembled, 
ascended.  For  a  moment  two  stenographers  wait 
ing  on  the  ground  floor  had  a  vision  of  a  strange 
figure  in  undershirt,  cotton,  one,  and  nether  gar 
ments  to  match,  surmounted  by  a  distorted  face, 
passing  on  its  way  to  the  upper  floors. 

Sergeant  Gray  surrendered  the  lever,  and  ran 
a  trembling  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"You've  got  to  hide  me  somewhere,"  he  shout 
ed.  "Look  at  me !" 

"I  see  you,"  said  the  elevator  man.  "Y'ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"You've  got  to  hide  me,"  insisted  Sergeant 
Gray;  "and  then  you've  got  to  go  out  and  buy 
me  some  clothes." 

They  had  reached  the  top  floor,  and  the  car  had 
stopped. 

"I'll  tell  you  later.  You  can  get  me  a  pair  of 
pants  somewhere,  can't  you?" 

There  was  pleading  in  his  voice.  Almost  tears. 
But  the  tears  were  of  rage. 

"I'll  lose  my  job  if  I  leave  this  car,"  observed 
the  elevator  man.  He  had  recovered  from  his 


68    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

fright,  and  besides  he  had  recognised  the  boy's 
service  hat. 

"Soldier,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes.  Look  here,  old  man,  I'm  in  a  devil  of  a 
mess.  Lot  of  our  fellows,  met  them  outside — 
it's  a  joke.  I'll  joke  them!"  he  added  vindic 
tively. 

"Some  fellows  got  a  queer  idea  of  humour,"  ob 
served  the  elevator  man.  "I  might  send  out  for 
you.  Got  any  money?" 

The  full  depth  of  his  helplessness  struck  Ser 
geant  Gray  then  and  turned  him  cold.  His  mon 
ey,  thirty-nine  dollars  and  sixteen  cents,  was  in 
the  slicker. 

"They  took  my  money  too." 

The  elevator  man's  face  grew  not  less  interest 
ed  but  more  suspicious. 

"Why  don't  you  get  a  good  story  while  you're 
at  it?"  he  demanded.  "Looks  like  you're  running 
away  from  something." 

"Great  heavens,  I  should  think  I  am!" 

"You  fellows,"  observed  the  elevator  man, 
"think  you  can  come  to  this  town  and  raise  hell 
and  then  pull  some  soldier  stuff  and  get  out  of  it. 
Well,  you  haven't  any  effect  on  me." 

The  buzzer  in  the  cage  had  been  ringing  in 
sistently. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     69 

"I'll  have  to  go  down.    Crawl  out,  son." 

"Crawl  out!     Where  to?" 

"Don't  know.  Can't  let  you  in  an  office.  You 
may  find  some  place."  He  threw  open  the  door. 
"Out  with  you!"  he  commanded.  "I'll  look  you 
up  later." 

"Run  me  to  the  cellar,"  gasped  Sergeant  Gray. 

"Tailor's  shop  there.    Full  of  girls." 

With  a  hoarse  imprecation  Sergeant  Gray  left 
the  elevator  and  scuttled  down  the  hallway.  To 
his  maddened  ears  the  place  was  full  of  sounds, 
of  voices  inside  doorways  and  about  to  emerge,  of 
footsteps,  of  hideous  laughter.  He  had  wild  vi 
sions  of  finding  a  window  and  a  roof,  even  of 
jumping  off  it.  Then — he  saw  on  a  door  the 
name  of  J.  M.  Booth,  Photographer;  and  hope 
leaped  in  his  heart. 

He  opened  the  door  cautiously  and  peered  with 
in.  All  was  silent.  On  the  table  in  the  reception 
room  lay  still  open  the  album  with  which  the  girl 
had  amused  herself  while  she  waited,  and  over  a 
couch — oh,  joy  supreme! — there  was  flung  an  In 
dian  blanket.  He  caught  it  up  and  wrapped  it 
about  him;  and  the  madness  left  him.  Such  as  it 
was,  he  was  clothed. 

Still  cautiously,  however,  he  advanced  to  the 
studio.  All  was  quiet  there,  but  beyond  he  could 


70    Twenty -Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

hear  water  running,  and  the  careful  handling  of 
photographers'  plates.  Mr.  Booth,  erstwhile  of 
Vienna,  was  within  and  busy.  It  irked  the  ser 
geant  profoundly  that  to  such  unworthy  refuge 
he  was  driven  for  shelter,  but  he  squared  his  shoul 
ders  and  advanced.  Then  suddenly  he  heard  foot 
steps  in  the  outer  room,  footsteps  that  advanced 
deliberately  and  relentlessly. 

Wild  fear  shook  him  again.  He  looked  round 
him  frantically,  and  then  sought  refuge.  In  a 
corner  behind  a  piece  of  scenery  which  was  in 
tended  to  show  the  sitter  in  an  Italian  garden, 

Sergeant  Gray  of  the  th   Division   sought 

shameful  sanctuary. 

Somewhat  later  in  the  day  the  general,  having 
a  broiled  squab  and  mushrooms  under  glass  in  a 
window  at  the  best  restaurant  in  the  city,  put  on 
his  glasses  and  looked  out  over  the  surging  tide  in 
the  brilliant  sunlight  of  the  street.  Just  opposite 
him,  moving  sedately,  was  a  group  of  soldiers. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me,"  said  the  general  testily 
to  the  aide-de-camp  whose  particular  joy  it  was  to 
lunch  with  him,  "what  the  deuce  those  fellows  are 
doing  in  slickers  on  a  day  like  this." 

"No  accounting  for  the  vagaries  of  enlisted 
men,  sir,"  returned  the  aide,  ordering  a  demi-tasse. 


IV 


AT  that  exact  moment  the  elevator  man,  hav 
ing  a  moment's  leisure  after  the  lunch  rush, 
made  his  way  back  along  the  corridor  where  he 
had  left  a  wild-eyed  refugee.  All  was  quiet.  In 
the  office  of  the  National  Asphalt  Company  the 
clicking  of  typewriters  showed  that  no  fleeing  sol 
dier,  seeking  sanctuary  and  a  pair  of  trousers,  had 
upset  the  day's  pavements.  Dolls  and  Wigs  was 
calm.  Coat  Fronts  remained  inadequate  and  still. 

He  wandered  back,  his  face  twisted  in  a  dry 
grin.  Then  suddenly  from  Booth,  Photographer, 
he  heard  a  wild  yell.  This  was  followed  by  the 
crash  of  a  heavy  body,  a  number  of  smothered 
oaths  and  a  steady  softish  thud  that  sounded  ex 
tremely  like  the  impact  of  fists  on  flesh. 

The  elevator  man  opened  the  door  of  Booth, 
Photographer's,  anteroom  and  stuck  his  head  in. 
The  studio  beyond  showed  something  on  the  floor 
that  stirred  in  the  wrapping  of  an  Indian  blanket, 
while  stepping  across  it  and  on  it  a  mad  thing  in 
undergarments  and  a  service  hat  was  delivering 
blows  at  something  unseen. 

71 


72    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

The  elevator  man  carefully  reached  a  hand  in 
side  the  door  and  took  out  the  key.  Then  as 
stealthily  he  closed  the  door,  locked  it  from  the 
outside,  and  moved  back  swiftly  to  his  cage, 
where  the  buzzer  showed  that  the  carpet  cleaning 
company  which  occupied  the  fourth  floor  was  in  a 
hurry  and  didn't  care  who  knew  it. 

At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes  two  roundsmen 
went  up  in  the  cage.  Going  up  they  learned  of 
the  preliminaries. 

"Crazy,  I  guess,"  finished  the  elevator  man. 
"He  looked  crazy,,  now  I  think  about  it.  Proba 
bly  killed  the  lot  by  this  time.  Where  do  you 
fellows  hide,  anyhow"?" 

Back  in  Booth,  Photographer,  there  was  a  com 
plete  and  awful  silence.  Revolvers  ready,  the 
door  was  opened  and  the  roundsmen  sprang  in. 
It  looked  like  the  worst.  The  Indian  blanket  nor 
moved  nor  quivered.  A  chair,  overturned,  lay  on 
top  of  it,  and  against  that  there  leaned  tipsily  a 
photographer's  screen,  on  which  was  painted,  in 
grays  and  whites,  an  Italian  garden. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  called  a  cheery  voice. 
"I'm  glad  to  see  you !" 

Standing  in  the  doorway  of  the  dressing  room 
was  a  tall  young  man.  He  held  a  brush  in  his 
hand  and  was  still  slicking  down  his  hair. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     73 

"How  are  you,  anyhow1?"  demanded  the  tall 
young  man,  and  proceeded  to  shake  down  the  leg 
of  a  pair  of  black  trousers.  "A  trifle  short,  aren't 
they*?"  he  observed.  "But  they're  a  darn  sight 
better  than  nothing!" 

"Get  him,  Joe,"  said  one  of  the  officers  casu 
ally,  and  walked  toward  the  inner  room. 

"Oh,  I'll  go  along  all  right,"  said  Sergeant 
Gray  blithely.  "It's  worth  the  price.  I'm  only 
sorry  you  didn't  see  it.  I " 

"Joe!"  called  the  other  officer  from  the  inner 
room.  "Come  here,  will  you4?" 

"Mind  if  I  go  along*?"  asked  Sergeant  Gray. 
"I'd  like  to  look  at  'em  again.  I  want  to  remem 
ber  how  they  look  all  the  rest  of  my  life." 

Joe  nodded,  and  Sergeant  Gray  led  the  way  to 
the  studio.  In  a  corner,  roped  tightly  to  a  chair, 
sat  Booth,  Photographer.  He  was  bleeding  pro 
fusely  from  a  cut  on  the  lip  and  another  over  the 
eye,  his  head  was  bobbing  weakly  on  his  shoulders, 
and  he  wore,  to  be  exact,  one  union  suit  minus  two 
buttons  on  the  chest  and  held  together  by  a  safety 
pin. 

Joe  stumbling  over  the  Indian  blanket  heard 
it  groan  beneath  him,  and  uncovered  a  stout  gen 
tleman  in  a  cutaway  coat  and  with  his  collar  torn 
off. 


74     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

"Pretty  good,  eh?"  demanded  Sergeant  Gray. 
"Sorry  about  the  collar,  though.  Booth's  is  too 
small  for  me." 

"Want  an  ambulance*?"  inquired  the  elevator 
man  with  unholy  joy  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes.  Better  have  one."  And  to  the  wreck 
age  :  "You  gentlemen  will  be  all  right,"  said  Joe. 
"How'd  this  happen,  anyhow*?" 

"I'll  tell  you,"  volunteered  the  sergeant. 
"They're  spies,  that's  what  they  are.  German 
spies.  D'you  get  it1?  And  I " 

"Aw,  shut  up !"  said  the  first  roundsman,  weari 
ly.  "Take  him  along,  Joe.  Now,  how  d'you  feel, 
Mr.  Booth4?" 

"But  I  tell  you " 

"You  don't  tell  me  anything.  You  go.  That's 
all." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Sergeant  Gray  cheerful 
ly.  "You'll  be  sorry.  That's  all.  Come  on, 
Joe."  He  raised  his  voice  in  song. 

"Where  do  we  go  from  here,  Joe,  where  do  we 
go  from  here4?"  he  sang  in  a  very  deep  bass. 

At  the  centre  table  he  stopped,  however,  with 
Joe's  revolver  very  close  to  him,  and  consulted 
Mr.  Booth's  watch  which,  with  all  of  his  money 
but  car  fare  back  to  camp,  lay  in  a  heap  there. 

"You  might  hurry  a  bit,  Joe,"  he  suggested 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     75 

"I've  only  got  twenty-three  and  a  half  hours' 
leave,  and  time's  flying.  You'll  observe,"  he  add 
ed,  "that  old  Booth's  money  and  watch  are  here." 
He  glanced  significantly  toward  the  elevator  man. 
"Eight  dollars  and  ninety  cents,  Joe,"  he  said. 
"The  old  boy'll  need  it  for  a  doctor." 

The  general  breakfasted  rather  late  the  next 
morning — at  seven  o'clock.  His  ordinary  hour 
was  six-thirty.  He  had  eaten  three  fried  eggs, 
some  fried  potatoes,  a  bran  muffin,  drunk  a  cup 
of  coffee,  and  was  trying  to  remember  if  he  had 
made  any  indiscreet  remarks  at  a  dinner  party  the 
night  before  about  Pershing  or  the  General  Staff, 
when  an  aide  came  in  with  a  report.  The  general 
read  it  slowly,  then  looked  up. 

"You  mean  to  say,"  he  inquired,  "that  those 
fellows  haven't  had  any  clothes  since  yesterday 
morning*?" 

"No  uniforms,  sir." 

"The  entire  troop  *?" 

"All  except  those  who  were  on  duty  here  yes 
terday,  sir.  I  believe" — the  aide  hesitated — "I 
believe  some  of  them  went  to  town  anyhow,  sir." 

"The  devil  you  say!"  roared  the  general. 

"I  rather  fancy  that  the  men  we  saw  in  slickers, 
sir " 


76     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

Suddenly  the  general  laughed.  The  aide 
laughed  also.  Aides  always  laugh  when  the  gen 
eral  does.  It  is  etiquette.  When  the  general  had 
stopped  laughing  he  became  very  military  again, 
and  swore. 

"We'll  look  into  it,  Tommy,"  he  said.  "It's 
a  damned  shame.  Somebody's  going  to  pay  for 
it  through  the  nose." 

This  is  a  little-used  phrase,  but  the  general  had 
read  it  somewhere  and  adopted  it.  It  means 
copiously. 

He  was  not  aware,  naturally,  that  Sergeant 
Gray  was  already  paying  for  it,  copiously. 

It  was  at  that  precise  moment  that  a  little  car 
drew  up  outside  his  quarters.  The  general  smiled 
and  rolled  himself  a  cigarette. 

"Bring  me  another  cup  of  coffee,"  he  ordered, 
"and  get  another  chair,  Tommy." 

The  girl  came  in.  She  kissed  the  general  on 
his  right  cheek,  and  then  on  his  chin,  and  then 
stood  back  and  looked  at  him. 

"I'm  in  trouble,  Uncle  Jimmy,"  she  said.  "If 
a  man  from  the  Headquarters  Troop  overstays  his 
leave  what  happens  to  him*?" 

"Court-martialed;  maybe  shot,"  replied  the 
general  with  a  glance  at  Tommy,  who  did  not  see 
it  as  he  was  looking  at  the  girl. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     77 

"But  if  it  is  my  fault " 

"Then  you'll  be  shot,"  said  the  general  cheerily. 
"Now  see  here,  Peggy,  if  you  don't  let  my  young 
men  alone  What's  that  you're  carrying1?" 

"It's  a  slicker!"  said  Peggy. 

The  general  looked  at  Tommy,  and  Tommy 
looked  back. 

Peggy  told  her  story,  and  showed,  toward  the 
end,  an  alarming  disposition  to  cry. 

"He  knew  something,"  she  said.  "That — that 
man  Booth  was  a  spy,  Uncle  Jimmy.  I  could 
hear  him  asking  all  sorts  of  questions,  and  when 
the  sergeant  came  out  his  face  was " 

"Sergeant,  eh?"  interrupted  Uncle  Jimmy. 
"Any  sergeants  from  the  Headquarters  Troop  on 
leave,  Tommy1?" 

'Til  find  out,  sir." 

Tommy  went  away. 

"I  had  got  into  the  car,  and  he  was  coming, 
when  three  or  four  other  soldiers  came  along. 
They  all  went  back  into  the  building,  and  I — I 
thought  they  were  going  to  get  Mr.  Booth.  But 
pretty  soon  they  came  out  without  him,  and  one  of 
them  gave  me  this  slicker;  and — and  they  all 
went  away." 

"Good  Lord!"  said  the  general  suddenly.  "The 
young  devils !  The — the  young  scamps !  So  that 


78     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

was  it.  Now  look  here,  Peggy,"  he  said,  bending 
forward  with  a  twinkle.  "I — well,  I  understand, 
I  can't  explain,  but  it  was  just  mischief.  Your 
young  man's  all  right,  though  where  he's  hiding 


He  broke  off  and  chuckled. 

"He  is  not  at  all  the  hiding  sort." 

"Under  certain  circumstances,  Peggy,"  ob 
served  the  general,  "any  man  will  hide — and 
should." 

Some  time  later,  at  approximately  the  hour 
when  Sergeant  Gray's  twenty-three  and  a  half 
hours'  leave  was  up,  the  little  car  started  for  the 
city.  It  contained  one  anxious  young  lady,  one 
general  who  rolled  constant  cigarettes  and 
chuckled,  and  one  aide  on  the  folding  seat  in  the 
back,  rather  resentful  because  there  was  no  ade 
quate  place  for  his  legs. 

"I'm  going  along,  Tommy,"  the  general  had 
said.  "It  promises  to  be  rather  good,  and  I  need 
cheering.  Besides,  under  the  circumstances,  a 
member  of  Miss  Peggy's  family  " 

At  the  building  on  Twenty-second  Street  the 
general  got  out,  leaving  Peggy  discreetly  in  the 
car.  He  was  a  large  and  very  military  figure,  and 
he  summoned  the  elevator  man  with  a  single  com 
manding  gesture. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave    79 

"I  want  to  know,"  said  the  general  fixing  him 
with  a  cold  eye,  "whether  you  happened,  yester 
day  afternoon,  to  have  seen  about  here  an  enlisted 
man  without  a  uniform1?" 

"I  did,"  said  the  elevator  man  unctuously. 

"You  did— what?" 

"I  did  see  him." 

"Say,  'sir',"  prompted  the  aide. 

"I  did — sir."     It  plainly  hurt  to  say  it. 

"When  and  where  did  you  see  him  last?" 

"At  one-thirty,  getting  into  a  police  wagon—* 
sir." 

"Exactly,"  said  the  general.  "You  of  course 
provided  him  with  clothing  before  the — er — 
arrest." 

"I  did  not,"  said  the  elevator  man,  who  had 
by  now  decided  that  no  man  could  bully  him, 
even  if  he  did  wear  two  stars.  "He  stole  a  suit. 
And  before  he  did  that  he  like  to  killed  two 
men.  Mr.  Booth,  he's  in  the  hospital  now;  and 
as  for  the  other  gentleman,  he  was  took  away  in 
a  taxi  last  night.  If  he  was  one  of  your  men,  all 
I  got  to  say  is " 

"Of  no  importance  whatever,"  finished  the  gen 
eral  coldly.  "Find  out  where  he  was  taken,"  he 
added  to  Tommy,  and  stalked  out.  The  elevator 
man  followed  him  with  resentful  eyes. 


80     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

"You  tell  Pershing,  or  the  Secretary  of  War, 
or  whatever  that  is,"  he  said  venomously,  "that 
his  pet  wild  cat  is  in  the  central  police  station.  I 
expect  he's  in  a  padded  cell.  Good-by." 

An  hour  later  the  little  car  stopped  in  front  of 
the  best  restaurant  in  town  and  the  general  assisted 
his  niece  to  get  out.  From  the  folding  seat  be 
hind,  two  pairs  of  long  legs,  one  in  khaki  and 
one  in  black  rather  too  short,  disentangled  them 
selves  and  followed.  The  best  restaurants  in 
town  in  the  morning  present  a  dishabille  appear 
ance  of  sweepers,  waiters  without  coats  and  gen 
eral  dreariness;  but  the  general  took  the  place  by 
storm. 

"Table  for  four,"  he  said.  Now  that  he  was 
doing  the  thing  he  was  minded  to  do  it  magnifi 
cently.  "Sit  down,  sergeant.  Tommy,  run  and 
telephone,  as  I  told  you,  to  the  Department  of 
Justice.  Got  to  nail  those  fellows  quick." 

As  one  newly  awakened  from  sleep  Sergeant 
sat  down  beside  Peggy.  He  presented,  up  to  the 
neck,  the  appearance  of  a  Mr.  Booth  suddenly 
elongated  as  to  legs  and  arms.  From  the  neck 
up  he  was  a  young  man  who  had  found  one 
hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars  and  the  only  girl 
in  the  world. 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     81 

The  general  ordered  breakfast  for  four.  Then 
he  glanced  up  from  the  menu. 

"Suit  you  all  right,  Gray*?" 

"Splendidly,  sir — unless  "  He  hesitated. 

"Go  ahead,"  said  the  general.  "You've  earned 
the  right  to  choose  what  you  like." 

"I  was  going  to  suggest,  sir,  that  I  ordinarily 
have  a  bran  muffin " 

The  general  put  down  the  menu  and  stared  at 
him.  Then  he  chuckled. 

"Might  have  known  it  would  be  you!"  he  ob 
served.  "But  c'est  la  guerre,  Gray.  C'est  la 
guerre!  We'll  have  them." 


EARLY  that  afternoon  the  stable  sergeant  of 
the  Headquarters  Troop  coming  out  of 
divisional  headquarters  saw  the  general  approach 
ing  in  a  car  much  too  small  for  him.  Beside  him 
sat  an  aide,  who  drove  wisely  but  not  too  well. 
On  the  rumble  seat  were  a  girl,  and  a  youth  in 
civilian  clothes  and  a  service  hat.  They  were  in 
deep,  absorbing  conversation. 

The  stable  sergeant  came  stiffly  to  the  salute, 
and  remained  at  it,  the  general  giving  no  evidence 
of  seeing  him  and  returning  it.  Then — the 
stable  sergeant  went  pale  under  his  tan,  for  the 
civilian  emerging  from  the  rear  of  the  machine, 
and  strangely  but  sufficiently  clad,  was  one  Ser 
geant  Gray  of  the  Headquarters  Troop. 

As  if  this  had  not  been  enough  he  watched  the 
same  Sergeant  Gray  assist  to  alight  the  young 
lady  of  yesterday,  and  it  gave  no  peace  to  the 
stable  sergeant's  turbulent  soul  to  behold  that 
young  lady  giving  the  general  a  patronising  pat 
and  then  a  kiss. 

"Great  Scott!"  said  the  stable  sergeant  feebly. 
83 


84     Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave 

But  there  was  more  to  come,  for  Sergeant  Gray 
had  spied  his  enemy  and  was  minded  to  have 
official  confirmation  of  a  certain  fact.  Before  the 
stable  sergeant's  incredulous  eyes  he  beheld  Gray, 
of  the  undergarments,  gauze,  et  cetera,  advance 
to  the  general  and  salute,  and  then  remark  in  a 
very  distinct  tone: 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you,  sir,  to  ask  me  to 
breakfast." 

The  general  looked  about  under  his  gray  eye 
brows  and  perceived  a  situation. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  replied  in  an  equally  distinct 
voice.  "Glad  you  liked  my  bran  muffins." 

The  stable  sergeant,  who  was  carrying  a  saddle, 
dropped  it.  Had  he  not  been  stooping  he  would 
have  observed  something  very  like  a  wink  on  the 
most  military  countenance  in  America.  It  was 
directed  at  Tommy. 

"Good-by,  Sergeant  Gray,"  said  the  pretty  girl, 
holding  out  her  hand.  "I — I  think  you  are  the 
bravest  person !  And  you  will  write,  won't  you1?" 

"I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  my  commission." 

The  stable  sergeant  swallowed  hard. 

"But  you'll  get  that  now,  of  course.  I'll  go 
right  in  and  tell  Uncle  Jimmy." 

"Oh,  I  say!"  protested  Sergeant  Gray.  "You 
— you  mustn't  do  that,  you  know." 


Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours'  Leave     85 

"Aw,  rats!"  muttered  the  stable  sergeant;  and 
clutching  the  saddle  furiously  moved  away.  Up 
the  road  he  met  a  military  policeman,  and  stopped 
him. 

"Better  grab  that  fellow."  He  indicated  Ser 
geant  Gray  behind  him,  now  shamelessly  holding 
the  hand  of  the  general's  niece. 

"Why?5 

"Awol,"  replied  the  stable  sergeant  darkly — 
being  military  brevity  for  absent  without  leave. 
"And  you  might  observe,"  he  added,  "that  he 
isn't  in  uniform." 

The  girl  got  into  the  little  car.  Hat  in  hand, 
eyes  full  of  many  things  he  dared  not  put  into 
words,  Sergeant  Gray  of  the  Headquarters  Troop 

of  the  th   Division   watched  her  start  the 

car,  smile  into  his  eyes  and  move  away.     He 
came  to  at  a  touch  on  his  arm. 

"What' re  you  doing  in  that  outfit"  demanded 
the  M.  P.  sharply. 

"Having  an  acute  attack  of  heart  trouble,  if 
you  want  to  know,"  said  the  sergeant,  staring 
after  the  little  car. 

"Have  to  arrest  you." 

"Oh,  go  to  it!"  said  the  sergeant  blithely. 
"I'm  used   to  it  now.     Look  here,"   he  added, 
"your  name's  not  Joe,  by  any  chance*?" 


86    Twenty-Three  and  a  Half  Hours3  Leave 

"You  know  my  name,"  said  the  M.  P.  sourly. 

"Sorry,"  reflected  the  sergeant.  "Don't  mind 
if  I  call  you  Joe,  do  you?  Always  like  the  men 
who  arrest  me  to  be  called  Joe.  It's  lucky." 

He  stopped  and  looked  back;  the  little  car 
was  almost  out  of  sight. 

"All  right,  Joe,  old  top!"  he  said  blithely.  And 
he  sang  in  a  deep  bass 

11  Where  do  we  go  from  here,  boys? 
Where  do  we  go  from  here? 
All  the  way  from  Broadway  to  the 
Jersey  City  pier''' 

His  voice  died  away.  In  his  eyes  there  was 
suddenly  that  curious  blend  of  hope  and  sadness 
which  shines  from  the  faces  of  those  who  love 
and,  loving,  must  go  away  to  war. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Joe,"  he  said. 

And,  turning,  looked  back  again.  The  little 
car  was  still  in  sight,  and  the  girl,  standing  up 
in  it,  waved  her  hand. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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